


Week 4: Forbidden

by dragonofslash



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Summer Pornathon 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofslash/pseuds/dragonofslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!</p><p>
  <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform">Vote for your favorite entries here!</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
>  
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**1.**

Pairing: Morgana/Morgause  
Warning: incest (they're cousins in this AU), homophobia

Morgause fucks up the first time they meet. She tries to play Morgana: whispers

p

    o

        i

            s

                o

                      n

                                                                                                                       in her ear; laces it with just enough sweetness. Or so she thinks.

  


But Morgana’s blood has been poisoned a long time ago, by 

the monarchy, 

tradition, 

(her father,) 

and she does not fall for Morgause’s trick.

  
  


*

Morgana is **three** years older than Arthur. She beats him at fencing as easily as she beats her fists into the punching bag at the gym to the angry beat of her heart (thud, thud, _thud_ ) , and she’s a lady besides, elegant, polite, demure (OK, perhaps not demure), smart, a great conversationalist.

  
  


She is _something_ , everyone agrees.

  
  


But that something is not a ruler, not a monarch, because, Morgana,

                      (listen)

                                             (listen)

                                                                    you’re a woman.

                      (Don’t be ridiculous.)

*

She doesn’t fall for Morgause’s trick, but Morgause has a tattoo on the inside of her arm.

It looks like a snake and tastes a lot like _want_ , curling salty and thirsty at the back of Morgana’s tongue. 

It goes up, _up_ , **up** to her armpit, damp and delicious and it tastes a lot like want and like

Morgana, what on earth do you think you are doing, besmirching the Pendragon name – 

and she smiles against Morgause’s soft breasts and hard stomach and the inside of her thighs (especially the inside of her thighs), and makes Morgause – older, so much more experienced – come with nothing but her tongue.

She doesn’t let Morgause touch her, but shoves a hand between her own legs, humps down on it, with her face sticky and wet and and her mouth all sore, still buried between Morgause’s thighs, still buried in her heavy, heady scent. 

When she comes, it tastes sweet, so very sweet, like revenge. 

  
  


*

Uther doesn’t disappoint (a refreshing change), the anger boiling out of him (the shame). 

**No! Daughter! Of mine! Yadda yadda yadda**

Somehow, Morgana doubts it’s the fact that they’re cousins that bothers him.

Arthur tries to help; tries to calm his father; drags Morgana away and says, face full of concern, “Morgana, what do you think you’re doing?” 

Morgana hates him.

She taught him how to ride a horse, fought armies of tin knights with him, in their pyjamas in the middle of the night, laughed at his bruises and kissed them better, too. 

He doesn’t understand why she wants to be queen, so much work, so much responsibility, Morgana, enjoy your freedom.

Well, she _is_. She spits it in his face.

  
  


*

  
  


Morgause believes in magic, and Morgana tries not to laugh as she chants and crushes something disgusting to curse the poor soul who keeps stealing her parking spot. 

It’s hard, living in the modern age. Or so Morgause tells her.

Morgana thinks she might be a bit mad (no wonder they’re cousins). 

She feels exhilarated as she pushes Morgause down on the bed; as Morgause, strong, capable, slightly mad Morgause, lets her. She rides Morgause’s thigh and then teases, teases, teases her, until she’s quite breathless and annoyed, until all Morgana needs to do is press her hand to Morgause’s cunt, and she rides up in waves, coming, all flushed and lovely, and Morgana kisses her.

  
  


*

Morgause likes it when she bites, so she does; sinks in her teeth, leaves her mark – crooked, always crooked.

Morgause loves it.

  
  


*

Morgana gets a tattoo, on her arm, for everyone to see. It’s a fox. Uther is appalled; Arthur sighs. Arthur’s assistant looks away (there is a dragon crawling over his shoulder; Morgana saw it once, by accident. Merlin never mentions it).  
  


*

The poison is right there

(in her veins)

in the vial Morgause gave her and it goes easily,

                                                                                         drip                                                                                                                                drip                                                                                                                                                                    drip 

into Arthur’s glass. 

She gives it to him; 

her hand shakes

and it falls to its untimely death, 

the glass and her soul, 

in shatters on the floor.  
  


*

Morgause holds her. She used to smell like danger; now, she smells like home. 

“Politics,” she says, close to Morgana’s ear, like it’s a dirty word. Not the good kind.

Morgana laughs, can’t help it. “I could make it work.

**DOWN WITH THE MONARCHY**

That sort of thing.”

Morgana is _something_ , after all.

”I could just curse their souls.” 

”You do that.” 

“You are mad.” 

”I am,” Morgana says, and 

s

i

n

k

s

down,  
into madness  
into Morgause’s embrace  
(into the vee of her thighs)  
into something like belonging.

* * *

**2.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Can be read as underage, dubious consent, knotting, supernatural elements

It had been a hot day for late March, but night was falling now, and so was the temperature. Jogging, Arthur crossed the road and entered the forest.

Once his anger at having missed the last bus faded, he noticed the silence: no birds, no wind in the trees, no nothing. Just the thump-thump of his footfall. 

There was a weird smell in the air, hot and charged despite the chill. 

He ran faster, tried not to think of the rumours that were all over school. Soon he'd see the spire of St Michael's, and then he'd be almost home.

He stumbled and fell in the darkness. The scent got stronger: a coppery hint of nosebleed that had him finger his upper lip for wetness. There was none, and his fumbling was directed towards the ground, trying to find his gym bag.

His hand connected with a shoe. There was a man standing in front of him.

Arthur brushed his knees and stood, stared into blue eyes.

His blood rushed south, almost flooring him in the process. He tugged at his hoodie to hide the bulge in his track shorts. 

"Oh, you scared me. There's something in these woods and–"

"Something?" The man's voice was rough, like he hadn't spoken in a while, or just woken up.

"It freaked out a group of kids camping here a few weeks ago. But I missed my bus after practice, and I had to–"

The man's hand touched Arthur's cheek. His thumb trailed a drop of sweat along Arthur's temple, then touched Arthur's mouth. Arthur licked at it, tasted himself and something else: soil. 

He let the man cup his face and sniff him before bringing their mouths together.

He was all lean muscle and wiry limbs; there was nothing soft on him. Even his skin, where Arthur could feel it, was dusted with coarse hair. His beard rasped Arthur's face. 

He was impatient. He tore at Arthur's shorts, leaving him half-naked on all fours.

"You want it?" A thumb – already prodding, opening up – belied the question.

The man was no girl, and they weren't wed, but Arthur said _yes_.

He was held open, and there was a cold nose there, then a tongue that drew a stripe along his crack. Too much, too wet, too like a dog. Arthur cried out, and arched his back. He'd never dared dream he'd have this. 

By the time the tongue was replaced by something else, and the question was repeated, Arthur bleated out another _yes_.

He knew there were other words, like _condom_ , and _lube_ , but he couldn't care less. He would lose his virginity in the woods, sodomised by a stranger, and he wanted it.

Something entered him: too large, too fast. There was too much of it, and too little of him to contain it. But still he wanted it. When asked again, he said _yes_.

The man began to thrust, and Arthur braced himself and took it. 

He was going to get his dirty place pumped full of a man's spunk. The thought of it brought him off. His orgasm roared through him like a train through a tunnel. 

He ended up flat on the ground, with the man draped over his back.

After a while, he realised the man hadn't pulled out, but was prying himself further in. There was a bulge as big as a fist at the base of his penis that wanted in. It hurt, it was much too much. It shouldn't fit, but it did. The man soothed Arthur as the thing entered, as it grew even bigger, locking into place. 

Thoughts flashed through Arthur's brain, images of dogs stuck to each other.

"Say my name." 

Arthur whined in reply. He didn't know. 

"Say my name!"

Arthur sobbed. "I don't know!"

The man, still nameless, climaxed. Wave after wave, spurt after spurt, until Arthur's belly was taut and round against the forest floor.

_Say my name_ : a voice inside Arthur's head; a hand cupped at his distended stomach.

They lay together until they came unstuck, and the man's penis dislodged with a gush of fluid.

The man vanished, and Arthur hobbled back home, wet. 

He hurried to the bathroom, past the room where his father was working on Sunday's sermon. He must not see the stain, the streaks of a man's fluids along Arthur's thighs.

Arthur woke up the next morning still leaking. 

His gym bag was outside his window, hanging from a branch.

* * *

**3.**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Mithian  
**Warnings:** Dubcon (slavery-like relationship without explicit consent in the fic)

 

"That's a good girl," Mithian says, pulling her panties back on and wiping the drool and come off Elena's mouth with a handkerchief. "But from now on you're going to be even better for me. Stand up, that's it, and spread your legs a little. I've brought you a present."

It's not exactly what Elena was hoping for. First there's a metal belt that Mithian fastens around Elena's waist, then a second piece of metal that comes down her front and covers her pussy. She uses two chains to pull the shield back and attach it to the back of the belt, securing the connections with three tiny padlocks. 

They all use the same key as Elena's collar.

"Try walking around. Go look at yourself." 

Elena steps gingerly toward the mirror. As always, she stands up straighter, the way Mithian likes, when she sees her herself. She looks a little more sleek, a little less human than before.

"It doesn't pinch too much, does it?"

"I don't think so. It rubs a little against my labia, and it's... tight." 

"I know. I took your measurements and had it custom made, so you won't be able to get your greedy little fingers in."

"Mistress," says Elena, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yes, pet?"

"I haven't come yet."

Mithian narrows her eyes at Elena's reflection in the mirror. "Do you mean to tell me you haven't touched yourself all day?"

Elena's face and her chest and her constricted pussy all flush at once. "I... only once or twice."

Mithian turns Elena to face her. "I'm not angry at you, dear, it's only the way you were raised. But you admit it yourself, you have no self-control. Well, from now on you won't be _able_ to disobey me. And won't that be better for both of us?"

The last time Mithian caught Elena masturbating without permission she spanked her ass red and then fucked her face until Elena's jaw and tongue wouldn't move anymore. In Elena's opinion _that_ had been quite good enough for both of them. But these aren't her decisions to make. 

"Yes, Mistress," she says. "Thank you." 

So a new routine begins. Every morning, as before, Mithian bathes her, but the new rule is that Elena has to keep both hands on the shower rod while she's being touched. That's the only time the belt comes off.

Every evening, as before, Mithian tells Elena how to get her off, with her hands or her mouth, or sometimes that gag with a dildo on the front.

The days and nights get longer, and sometimes Elena cries herself to sleep, or lies awake writhing, imagining Mithian's hands inside her. 

She asks to be tied up more often – it's nice not to have to think about what to do with her hands – but she learns to stop asking to be allowed to come. Mithian will decide. 

She says "I love you" more. And she learns to appreciate a gentle kiss, a kind word, having her belly tickled, or her ass slapped or penetrated, as its own kind of reward and release.

And then there's the night, twenty-three nights after she gave her the present (no, Elena hasn't lost count) that Mithian chains her wrists to the headboard and takes off the belt. Elena's cunt throbs in the open air and her mind reels while Mithian sits on her face. But she goes to work at pleasuring her mistress, and as time passes she forgets again about herself, about what her new freedom might mean. After Mithian's second orgasm she kisses Elena's mouth, coos at her as she licks the mess away. She moves down to sit over Elena's hips while she bites and sucks at her breasts.

"I love you," Elena moans.

"I know," Mithian answers.

She kneels between Elena's legs, pushes up her knees and pushes her tongue inside her. Elena screams and breaks at once, but Mithian doesn't let up, goes on sucking and fucking and taking Elena apart in wave after painful wave. In three years together it's never hurt this good.

"Do you understand now?" she says, while Elena trembles and weeps. "Being mine means you can't do this for yourself. Not ever again."

They sleep naked, but for Elena's collar and a pair of cuffs at her wrists. 

"What do you think, darling?" Mithian says after her morning bath. "Shall I put it on you again?" 

"Whatever you think is best for me, Mistress."

Mithian smiles with genuine pride. "Good girl."

* * *

**4.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** student/teacher relationship, ages unspecified

Arthur's a good lad, they say at school. A big lad, a football hero, top of the class, the golden boy who rules the roost. A lad's lad, he is.

So when his spine shivers as he slides the silk up thick footie-playing thighs, Arthur can only grin conspiratorially at himself in the mirror, pursing his lips together to smooth on thick red there and then kohl around his eyes.

Once a month he escapes, lets his hair grow out just to the edge of too much, and goes to London for the night, tight silk and stockings falling softly around his chest and thighs. If only they could all see him now.

Come Monday his hair will be trimmed and neat again, front row in every class, as polished as everyone always expects him to be.

*

He'd recognise the shape of Mr Emrys' hips, the width of his shoulders anywhere, even here in the flashing light of the club and the skinny jeans and tank that have never made it within spitting distance of school grounds. He tongues the straw in his mouth as admires the curve of Mr Emrys' spine from across the bar, eyes eagerly taking in all the skin and sinew on display like never before.

And when a low voice breathes into the back of his neck, "Hello, beautiful, what's your name? I'm Merlin," Arthur hums and spreads his legs a little wider at the realisation that his art teacher _doesn't recognise him_.

Of course when he drops to his knees on the bathroom floor, inhaling all the come and scent like a good little boy, and Merlin's hands push into his hair, draw it back from his face, he can see the exact moment Merlin's eyes widen with recognition right before he comes.

*

Neither of them mention it. The _never_ mention it, or the casual way Arthur says he comes the first Saturday of every month, but never tells him his name.

Or the fact that Merlin is always there, waiting, just like Arthur.

_Plausible deniability_ , Arthur likes to think.

*

One week Arthur wears a pretty little floral dress; he likes the way it clings to his hips and arse, the way every man stares at him as he sways by on kitten heels. Merlin takes one wide-eyed look at him and stutters, nostrils flaring, before pushing him straight into a bathroom and locking the door to the whole damn thing.

"God, so _fucking beautiful_. Look at you, Christ," he murmurs into Arthur's ear, eyes locked in the mirror in front of them.

And Arthur doesn't want to stop this, wants to push and push just to see how far it can go, wants them to fucking wreck each other, so he braces himself against the sink and curves his arse out, skirt bunched at the base of his spine, and moans, "C'mon, want you to fuck me, just like this, c'mon, _Merlin_ ," and Merlin snaps.

Lube smears everywhere just like his lipstick across Merlin's face and when Merlin fills him up, balls all snug up against Arthur's arse, Arthur whines and shudders through every snap of Merlin's hips into his own. It's the sight though, of Merlin's hand wrapped around his prick in the mirror, dress a mess, and Merlin's feral eyes that has him coming and coming in thick white streaks all over the silk on his belly. And when Merlin shocks deep, coming with Arthur's name on his lips, and lube and come slip down Arthur's thighs, Arthur has never felt more alive than at that moment, eyes still locked in the mirror.

*

They never talk about _it_ , but they talk about everything else, late into the night for hours on end, in their own little world where nothing else matters but the fact that Arthur is a boy who likes the feel of silk and lean, angular men who touch him like he needs. Who like him exactly the way he is, not the way everyone expects him to be.

"This summer, I'd like to take you on a date sometime," Arthur says with his first genuine smile in a long, long time.

Merlin grins. "I'd like that."

* * *

**5.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin / Arthur  
**Warnings:** underage, age difference

 

The boy was dirty and skinny—practically skin and bones in a bundle of rags lying beside the road. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter a beggar asking for a coin or a piece of bread, but something made Arthur dismount to examine the boy closely.

He was a pathetic specimen, with tangled black hair and cheekbones so prominent he resembled a dryad more than a human. But his eyes were a vivid blue, and his face was oddly beautiful, especially when the boy looked up and his eyes caught the light of the sun, gleaming gold for a moment.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked. When no reply came he scooped up the boy and mounted his horse. “I’ll take care of you, sweetling,” he whispered in the boy’s ear, holding him tight.

Back at the castle Arthur took the boy to his chamber, laid him on his bed, and ordered a hot bath.

“What’s your name little elf?”

“Merlin.”

Arthur stroked Merlin’s hair, pushing it out of the boy’s eyes.

When the bath was ready he undressed him. Merlin’s slim body was pale, as if he’d never been out in the sun. He couldn’t be more than fourteen winters. It was hard to tell with peasant boys, thin as they were.

But he was beautiful and Arthur couldn’t stop stroking him.

Arthur eased Merlin into the hot water and bathed him, passing the washcloth down his arms and thighs and between Merlin’s legs, where his cock lay pale and limp, still boyishly small.

He kissed the inside of Merlin’s arm, then lifted it and licked Merlin’s armpit, revelling in the scent there. He wanted to rub the smell on him, to bathe in it, to be immersed in it. The boy whimpered when Arthur’s teeth scraped his skin.

He placed Merlin, now clean, back on the bed to feed him grapes and water. Then he climbed on the bed and licked the grape juice from Merlin’s lips.

He grabbed Merlin’s hips, rolled him over, and pressed him down into the sheets. He wanted to consume this boy. He stroked Merlin’s back, enjoying the sight of his large, tanned hands on Merlin’s milky skin. He traced the protruding bones of Merlin’s spine with his tongue, then spread Merlin’s ass cheeks and inhaled there, where he smelled the most delicious. He licked once, then again, lightheaded from the boy’s moans and whimpers. He pushed his tongue inside of Merlin’s small hole, wetting it with warm, slick spit, kissing it and then tonguing at it again. Merlin shivered and writhed, his skin getting warmer, his hips moving to the rhythm of Arthur’s licks. Oh, how Arthur longed to align his hard, aching cock with this little sweet hole and push and push. But no, this would be wrong, so Arthur pushed his tongue inside Merlin’s hole and sneaked his hand inside his own breeches to tug on his cock.

The boy was almost delirious with pleasure, sweet sobs escaping his mouth, and then his whole body tensed and he was coming underneath Arthur’s mouth, the scent of his arousal intoxicating, making Arthur paint his own breeches with seed.

Arthur eased Merlin on his back and took in the sight of the boy’s flushed body. Merlin’s come was smeared all over his belly, and Arthur bent down to lick it off, laving at the warm skin, swallowing hungrily.

He lay next to Merlin, hugging him tight and watching the boy’s face—relaxed now and ethereal, so beautiful.

“See, little elf? You’re safe.” Arthur kept stroking Merlin’s hair. He was so young and innocent, and Arthur felt a pang of embarrassment at what he’d just done, at what he wanted to do still. But the boy was so gorgeous.

It was getting dark in the chamber and Arthur made a move to light the candles, but Merlin curled his slender fingers around his wrist, grip surprisingly firm. His eyes lit gold and as he whispered the spell, and the candles in the chamber sparked to life.

“You’re a sorcerer, then,” Arthur said. “Do you know that magic is forbidden in Camelot?”

The boy nodded and Arthur hugged him even closer. He’d keep this one safe.

“Have you bewitched me?” he asked, kissing the tip of Merlin’s nose.

Merlin was watching him closely, his wide blue eyes innocent in the candlelight. “Would you feel better if I said I have?”

Arthur mulled this over for a while. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, I would.”

Merlin smiled. “Then I did.”

* * *

**6.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/ Arthur  
**Warnings:** Complete butchering of Egyptian historical fact and the arabic language. 

The heat in the air was suffocating; the Egyptian summer oppressive against Arthur's english sensibilities. He was as red as a lobster and had sand in very uncomfortable places, so when the workers he hired to help him find the lost tomb of Merlinotep refused to go any further, he figured that’s just how his luck was going.

“We will not enter the tomb, _mudir_ ,” the spokesman for his band of motley workers stated. A short swarthy man, he became spokesman purely by way of his superior English skills. In contrast Arthur’s Arabic was beyond rubbish.

“I know that we agreed upon, but the treasure of Merlinotep is so close,” Arthur said. “We could be very rich men if you helped me look.”

The worker shook his head and spoke to Arthur earnestly.

“This place is cursed _mudir_. You should leave now with the rest of us.”

Arthur squared his jaw mulishly.

“I don’t believe in magic and curses and silly things like that,” he stated dismissively.

“What I do believe, is that my discoveries here will ensure my name lives on throughout history,” Arthur turned his back to the man who helped him reach his goal, “but if your courage cannot carry you then I suppose my name will live on alone.”

Arthur took a torch from a nervous worker who was watching the heated exchange and lit it with dying embers of the camp fire.

As he marched determinedly towards the entrance of the forbidden tomb he heard the men whisper blessings to Allah; for his safe return or guidance for his doomed soul he was unsure.

He really needed to brush up on his arabic.

As he approached, the darkness of the tomb overshadowed him. A statue of Anubis, worn by the passing generations, stood guard against strangers; an imposing figure against the backdrop of the tomb.

Arthur wandered for hours in the tunnels of the tomb, the flickering of the torch light against the walls an ominous friend against the darkness.

So It came as a shock when a figure suddenly appeared in ancient royal garb, eyes glowing a deep magical gold.

It was nearly enough to make him question his beliefs about magic.

Nearly.

“Arturamon,” The man said softly, his unnerving golden eyes fading into a deep ocean blue.

A gorgeous smile appeared upon his face and Arthur stood poleaxed as the man approached him. The man spoke in a deep guttural language that Arthur was almost certain was not Arabic, but nonetheless reminded him of ancient times and ancient creatures. 

Arthur shook his head to convey his confusion and the man frowned.

“Arturamon?” he questioned raising his hand to cup Arthur’s face.

The stranger caressed his features gently rubbing his thumb against Arthur’s trembling lip before kissing him deeply. Arthur was able to do naught but let the man plunder his mouth a strange wave of nostalgia of overwhelming him.

Eventually the kiss broke and the man with blue eyes nodded to himself before patting Arthur’s chest and repeating “Arturamon” as if in confirmation.

Arthur stepped away from the stranger, the repetition of the one strange word enough to break whatever spell had temporarily held him hostage.

“You know you keep repeating that word but I don't know what it means,” Arthur said drily as the man looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“My name is Arthur. ARRRTHUR,” he dragged out condescendingly as if speaking to a small child.

The stranger snorted and muttered something under his breath. Arthur didn’t have to speak the language to know it was an insult.

The stranger took one of Arthur’s hands and patted his own chest with the other. “Merlinotep,” he stated leading Arthur back into a chamber with an open sacrphogi.

“No, no, no,” Arthur disagreed, “Merlinotep is dead. He died a long time ago.”

“How did you even get in here anyway?” he asked deeply in denial.

Merlinotep rolled his eyes before pushing Arthur down by his shoulders until he was seated on the ground leaning against the empty sarcophagus.

He placed himself firmly in Arthur’s lap and Arthur “oofed” at the sudden, but pleasant, extra weight.

Merlinotep kissed him and Arthur became distracted by the soft lips against his own and the undulating hips rocking him into hardness.

“You know this is really not what I expected to find when I entered the forbidden tomb of an egyptian pharaoh.”

Merlinotep laughed against his lips before reaching into Arthur’s pants and stroking him to completion. Arthur orgasimed to Merlinoteps smirking face and the memories of a life lived long ago.

* * *

**7.**

**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon  
Warnings: Dubious Consent/non con, Abuse of Power, Blackmail, Bondage.

“A criminal record wouldn’t look too good when you’re applying for scholarships, would it?” Arthur asked, toying with Merlin’s nipples, pinching and rolling the stiff peaks. “Think about your future job prospects as well,” he whispered, hands now on the soft dip of Merlin’s waist.

“I wasn’t even speeding,” Merlin whimpered, handcuffs rattling behind his back as he squirmed. 

“That’s not what the police report will say. Who do you think they’ll believe?” Arthur smirked, hands lowering to cup that lovely bottom, thumb rubbing the cleft through the denim. “An officer of the law or a speeding hooligan who resisted arrest?” 

“Please don’t—” Merlin started, sounding so very small. “Can’t you just let me off with a warning?” 

He sounded so hopeful near the end that something dark and wrong within Arthur purred in pleasure. “You think I’d just let this slide?” He pretended to ponder for a moment, kneading the soft globes of Merlin’s bum. The pretense of frisking him out the window. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you want with me?” Merlin growled, as if he didn’t already know. 

Arthur turned Merlin around, pushed him up against the police car and placed the baton under Merlin’s neck in one, fluid movement. “I want you to beg.” Arthur trailed the baton from Merlin’s chin, down to his neck and tapped it gently against Merlin’s sternum. “On your knees,” he ordered, putting the baton away. 

Merlin _glared_ at him, eyes wet, torn between anger and complete helplessness. It made Arthur hot, got him all bothered under his collar. He knew then that Merlin wasn’t going to say no, wasn’t even going to fight back though the heat in his eyes showed that he desperately wanted to.

Tugging Merlin onto his knees, Arthur undid his trousers, cock springing lewdly from the folds of fabric. It tapped against Merlin’s cheek, making him gasp.

“Come on,” Arthur urged. “Get it nice and wet.” He was kind enough to even help out, dragging the head of his cock along those blow-job lips, pressing into that delectable dimple upon Merlin’s bottom lip. 

_“Fuck,”_ Arthur groaned when he finally thrusts into that whorish mouth. “S-suck it,” he said with a hitch of his hips, desperate for more of that wet, velvet heat.

Unable to do anything but take it, Merlin just keened, wet gurgling noises at the back of his throat. Hands braced against Merlin’s head, Arthur fucked deep into that mouth, cockhead touching the back of Merlin’s throat, pulling out often enough to give Merlin space to breathe but fucking him all the more harder for it.

It took all the self control that Arthur had to pull away just before coming. He gave Merlin a moment to cough and splutter, wiping the drool and precome that dribbled down his chin with the back of his hand. 

“Come on,” Arthur urged, hauling Merlin up by the collar of his shirt to practically throw him over the hood of the car. 

“Condom,” Merlin begged, not even struggling when Arthur kicked his legs apart and undid his jeans. _“Please.”_

“Please, _sir,”_ Arthur corrected, pulling out his wallet to retrieve lube and a condom.

There was a moment of silence, of Merlin’s weak attempt of defiance before Arthur placed the head of his bare cock against Merlin’s hole, pressed in threateningly. 

“Please, Sir. Please. Sir,” Merlin babbled, almost frantic. 

It made Arthur laugh, but he was gracious enough to do as requested. He lined up his slick, condom clad cock and pushed. 

Merlin _squealed_ , let out this delicious wail as Arthur bottomed out. 

Arthur didn’t care about much after that, just pounded into that sweet hole. He loved it, every moment of it. Forcing those stuttered _“uh, uh, uh”_ noises out of Merlin at every thrust. The occasional yelp if he fucked with _just_ right amount of force. That tight, vice-like grip of hot flesh milking his cock. 

He was almost sad when he came. Almost. 

“Do you want me to finish you off?,” Arthur asked mockingly, feeling very satisfied with himself as discarded the tied up condom and undid the handcuffs. 

Merlin said nothing. Did nothing. It was only when Arthur reached for him again that he jerked away.

“Stay away!” he yelled, face streaked with tears as he tugged his pants up. “You got what you wanted.”

He got so much more than that, Arthur thought, filing Merlin’s information away at the back of his mind for a later date. _Merlin Emrys._

* * *

**8.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana/Merlin  
**Warnings:** some dubcon. gun play. half-sibling incest.

Merlin’s only been in Birmingham for three and a half hours before he gets caught.

Arthur shoves him through the pub doors and says, “On your knees.” 

“Over my dead body I’ll get on my knees for the likes of you.”

Arthur snorts and kicks him in the back of knees, forcing him to the ground. “Don’t give me any ideas,” he mutters and walks towards the bar top.

Merlin licks the inside of his cheek, where it’d been sliced open after their fight by the docks. In the dim lighting of the empty pub, Merlin watches Arthur lift his peaked tweed cap to run a hand through his hair – nothing about him is disheveled.

“He’s rather waif, for a spy. Wouldn’t you say, dear brother?” Merlin startles at the voice, and directs his gaze to its source – a young doll, eyes half-hidden beneath her fringe, and a telling red neckerchief wrapped around her neck, stark against the black of her dress.

Merlin recognizes her immediately, because he’s never feared a woman on sight before, but his blood runs cold when she sits at the table closest to him, crossing her legs and eyeing him appraisingly. 

“I’m not a bloody spy,” Merlin spits. He’s heard all sorts of rumors about the Pendragon mobsters – about the blood on their hands and merciless policies. He’d deemed them spurious; but right now – handcuffed and on his knees in front of the pair of them – he gets it.

“What then?” Arthur asks, and pulls his gun from the inside of his coat. He stalks towards Merlin and puts the barrel to his forehead. “IRA?”

“No!” He swallows. “I told you -- wrong place, wrong time.” Merlin’s always been a good liar, and yet he can’t seem to help the tremor in his voice.

Arthur hums and toggles the safety catch. 

“Arthur,” Morgana says, like a warning – or a plea, Merlin’s not quite sure – and moves a foot to rub over Arthur’s calf. 

Arthur’s gaze is heady when he looks down at her, and Merlin’s own cock stirs in his trousers. He stares between the two of them. 

Morgana meets his eye, her own dancing with either mockery or mirth. “Church lad, are you?” 

“No,” he breathes, and shifts on his knees.

“No?” Arthur asks, and drags the revolver over Merlin’s nose, down to his lips. “Open up, then.”

Merlin stares up at Arthur.

“C’mon now,” he says, and crouches down. He puts his finger on the trigger. “Be a good boy for us.”

Merlin opens his mouth and Arthur pushes the barrel between his lips, slow and easy.

“Suck.”

Merlin whimpers around the barrel of the gun, feels it heavy and solid against the flat of his tongue. He shuts his eyes and sucks. 

There’s the sound of chair scraping against wood, and then Morgana’s flush against his back, her hands settled on his waist in a tight grip. “Isn’t this a sight, Arthur?” she purrs. 

And then, right into the shell of Merlin’s ear, she asks, “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a mouth made for sucking cock?” just as she presses the heel of her hand against his crotch.

Merlin’s eyes fly open and he sputters. 

The gun slips from his mouth and Arthur stands, abandoning the revolver in favor of working the buckles on his belt.

“I-I can’t,” Merlin stutters, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where Arthur’s freeing his cock, flushed red and pulsing.

“Don’t be difficult,” Arthur says, and drags the head across Merlin’s mouth; precome smearing against the red of his lips. Merlin whimpers.

“Shh, don’t you worry baby, nobody here’ll tell the good Lord above how you’ve spent your night,” Morgana whispers, and then digs the hand that isn’t jerking him off into his matted hair. She uses the hold to push him onto Arthur’s cock.

Arthur’s hot and heavy in his mouth, and Merlin swallows him down, unable to determine where his desire to please them stems from.

When Arthur comes, it’s in Merlin’s mouth and all over his face – filthy and artless.

Then they’re both gone, and Merlin watches helplessly as they abandon him. Arthur spreads Morgana out on the wooden table, fucks her clit with his mouth, her sharp heels digging into his back.

He comes from the sight alone, and Arthur’s puffed-up when he drags Merlin to his feet by his lapels and unlocks the handcuffs.

“If I ever see you on Pendragon territory again, it’ll be your own cock I shove down your throat.”

* * *

**9.**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** half sibling incest, some age disparity (16/21)

The day is hot as fuck. Arthur is nursing a beer in the shade, watching from behind mirrored sunglasses while his little brother splashes around in the pool. Merlin has grown tall in the past year, but he's still lean as a whip, and the waistband of his swimming-trunks clings precariously to his hipbones. 

Arthur really should stop looking. 

Merlin is only his half-brother, but they've always been close. Then Arthur went to study abroad, and everything changed. Closing his eyes, Arthur tries to picture his cute baby brother who followed him around like a puppy, but all he can see are sharp cheekbones, long limbs and dusky nipples...

He jerks up when a heavy weight lands on top of him and he's splattered with water as Merlin shakes himself like a dog. He's laughing, mouth wide open and eyes glittering with mirth and something else - a dare, maybe, but Arthur can't quite tell. 

''Get off me!'' he grunts, pushing at Merlin half-heartedly.

Merlin just grins and pins him down, his hands on Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur has the sudden, insane urge to lick the stray drops of pool water from Merlin's chest, to slide his hands into those wet trunks and pull them down over the swell of his brother's arse, touch the water-cool skin.

Arthur's cock stirs and he excuses himself, hastily fleeing inside.

\---

That night, Arthur lies awake in his old room. It's still hot, but the thunder in the distance already heralds the approaching storm. Under the thin sheet, Arthur's cock lies full and heavy against his stomach, but he won't touch himself. Not when the only thing he can think of is to strip his little brother naked and stretch him out on this bed, to find his cock and suck it to hardness before diving deeper to kiss and lick at his small private hole.

The first drops of rain clatter against the window, and a flash of lightning illuminates the room. Arthur freezes when he sees Merlin standing in the doorway, watching him.

''Can I sleep here?''

As a boy Merlin always came crawling into Arthur's bed when there was a storm and he was scared.

''Don't you think we're too old for that?''

''Please.''

Merlin bites his lip, and suddenly he's Arthur's cute baby brother again.

''If you hog the blankets, I'll kick you out.''

Only when Merlin climbs in and snuggles back against him, does Arthur realise what a truly bad idea this is. He lies there, tense with fear and arousal. Merlin's unruly hair is tickling his nose, and his erection is brushing against his brother's arse. There's nothing between them but two thin layers of cotton.

''You can, you know?"

"W-What--?"

"I've practised. I can get three fingers in.''

Blood rushes in Arthur's ears and down to his cock. He thinks he might faint. Or come in his pants. Both seems just as likely.

''I've been wanting you to do it since forever, but I knew you'd think I was too young.''

''I'm not-- you're my brother!'' Arthur hisses.

''Half-brother!'' Merlin insists. ''And what does it matter?''

_It matters_ , Arthur wants to snap, but there's a hand inside his boxers, clumsily wrapping around him, and it's the hottest thing Arthur has ever felt. He needs to stop Merlin, but he's paralysed with want and indecision.

Merlin pulls him out and Arthur's cock slides between his brother's cheeks, wet and slippery. Oh god. Merlin has been busy. Has lubed and stretched his hole so that Arthur can fuck him.

Because that's what he wants.

Merlin, that demanding little brat, rocks backwards and Arthur's cock hits the target, stretching that tight pucker the slightest bit. 

Merlin moans. 

''Arthur... come on... just a little. Just the tip. I want you to."

Letting out a strangled sob, Arthur pushes forward, and then he's inside Merlin and, oh, it's so much more than just the tip, because he can't help but sink further into the tight heat of Merlin's arse.

''We can't...'' he mumbles against Merlin's neck. ''We can't.''

Merlin doesn't answer, instead he takes Arthur's hand and guides it between his legs. Merlin's cock is hard and soft like velvet, and Arthur starts stroking it, mesmerized, keeping in rhythm with his own helpless thrusts. 

Arthur comes inside his brother, Merlin's own release sticky on his fingers, exhausted and stunned and close to tears. Merlin turns around.

''Stop freaking out,'' he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against Arthur's lips. ''You know I love you, right?''

Yes, Arthur knows.

* * *

**10.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** age difference, teacher/student, dubcon maybe?, spanking, buttplugs

“You should work harder,” Arthur said, bringing his hand down on Merlin’s plump little bottom. Merlin’s breath hitched. Arthur rubbed the pink skin for a few seconds before raising his hand again. “How many is that, Merlin?” he asked.

“S-six, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin gasped out, and Arthur felt a rush of arousal go through him at that. Merlin only called him that when they were in class, or when he was feeling particularly kinky.

Merlin hadn’t exactly done all that bad on the test, really, but he was the one who’d come to Arthur, looking innocent, and asked for Arthur’s help. When Arthur had told him to just work harder, he’d batted his eyelashes—honest to god, _batted his eyelashes_ —and asked if Arthur could help him with working harder, too. And the tone of his voice had suggested that he had everything but studying in mind.

And, well, watching Merlin squirm under him as he spanked his arse sore—it wasn’t exactly a bad sight.

He spanked Merlin three more times in rapid succession, and watched the skin of flare up even more.

Arthur had resisted this for a long time. He was Merlin’s teacher, and so much older than him. Merlin was young and thin, with dark messy hair and a messy bedroom. Sometimes he had coffee for breakfast because he was young and forgot to eat or was too late, sometimes Arthur would catch him wearing mismatched socks as he walked into the lecture hall with his friends. He was young and reckless and beautiful. Arthur was the complete opposite of that. And he'd had resisted for so long, until one day Merlin had walked into his office and all but begged Arthur to fuck him, and Arthur had let go and bent Merlin over the desk and just... _taken_ him—like Arthur wasn’t his teacher, like he wasn’t nine years older than Merlin, like this wasn’t wrong in all the ways.

Arthur shook his head to rid himself of that line of thought. There was a time and place for those thoughts. And sitting in his bedroom with Merlin across his lap—waiting for the next time Arthur’s hand comes down on his arse and spanks him—wasn’t it. He could always wallow later on. For now, he decided to focus on Merlin and his perfect little bottom.

He cracked his hand down one more time, harder this time, and Merlin moaned.

“How many, Merlin?” Arthur purred.

“T-ten,” Merlin breathed, voice barely a whisper. Arthur could feel Merlin’s erection pressing against his thigh, and it took everything he had not to push Merlin off of his lap and fuck him right there. He enjoyed teasing Merlin, he enjoyed how desperate he got. He trailed his hand down, and flicked at the flared base of the butt plug Merlin was wearing. Merlin moaned, his whole body shuddered.

“Arthur, come on,” Merlin said when Arthur didn’t do anything else for a few seconds. He sounded desperate. Arthur’s cock hardened even more, if that was even possible.

“What’s the magic word, Merlin?” Arthur asked, flicking at the butt plug again.

“Please, Arthur—Mr. Pendragon, please fuck me,” Merlin tried, squirming and thrusting his arse up.

“Good boy,” Arthur whispered and pulled the plug out without warning and threw it on the bed.

~

Afterwards, when he’d fucked Merlin into the mattress, and Merlin was dozing, wrapped around Arthur like the fucking octopus that he was, and he felt strangely warm all over, Arthur stared at the ceiling and thought , this wasn’t all that wrong after all. He was sure that his doubts would creep back in with the first rays of sunlight, but for now, he thought this was enough.

* * *

**11.**

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur  
Warnings: past noncon (not described), dubcon (because circumstances)

 

“Found him,” Mordred's voice comes through the comm-link. 

“Give me a sec,” Arthur says, ripping his sword out of the last attacker's chest. 

He turns around, facing two more thugs just entering the large room. He doesn't move as they take in the scene. Seven men strewn all over the floor, blood pooling around their dead bodies, and not a single scratch on Arthur who just stands there, sword crimson and eyes shining bright white of avenging angel. 

“Come and get me,” Arthur taunts, smirking when they turn tail and run. 

“Knights, status?” he speaks to the comm-line.

“Clear,” comes first in Leon's and then in Gwaine's voice.

“Wait for us at the entrance. There might be two more guards heading your way,” Arthur says, finds Mordred's energy signature, and teleports away.

 

-x-

 

“He's in bad shape,” Mordred says without turning towards Arthur. “In a lot of pain too.”

“Are you sure it's him?” Arthur kneels next to a narrow cot, pressing his hand to the stranger's brow and taking part of his pain, watching tension flee his body.

“Positive. It's Emrys,” Mordred confirms, running his fingers first over the collar around Emrys' neck and then around the bracelets on both his wrists. “That's not possible,” he whispers after a while, frowning. 

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“The collar is meant to inhibit magic, but these,” he touches the bracelets again, “these block incubus' ability to feed.”

Morgana was very adamant about Emrys being special even though her visions were unable to tell her exact details. Still, this is unexpected. Magical incubi go through a difficult adolescence, a stage called Undecided. The two types of abilities war with each other until one wins. From that moment on, they're either a sorcerer or an incubus. But Emrys is too old to be Undecided. 

His hand still on Emrys' brow, Arthur touches his mind. 

_Pain. Fear. Shame. All-encompassing hunger._

“Fuck,” Arthur curses. “He's starving.” 

Emrys startles, curling into a ball and covering his head with his arms. 

“We need to get him out of here,” Arthur says.

 

-x-

 

“Can you get rid of the bindings?” Arthur asks, glancing at the incubus lying on his bed. Mordred sent him to deep sleep, but he still twitches from time to time. 

“I'm not sure it's such a good idea,” Mordred says. 

“They kept him there for almost a month! They used him as their toy and didn't let him feed!” Arthur growls.

“I know exactly what you want to do, Arthur,” Mordred says. “But think about it for a second. He's an incubus and you're half angel. This sort of coupling is forbidden for a reason. It's unpredictable.”

“So you want me to let him suffer?”

“Nobody is saying we should do nothing,” Leon says, “but maybe we should think about it first.”

“There must be a reason why Morgana sent us. Her visions are never just random rescue missions,” Arthur says. He looks at Mordred again. “Can you get rid of those bindings or not?”

 

-x-

When the collar clicks open, Arthur's ready for the spike of pain, taking most of it away. Emrys sags back into his arms, barely conscious.

“Emrys, stay with me,” Arthur says. 

“I'm not...” Emrys mumbles, starts fighting Arthur's hold. “I don't know anything about the prophecy.” His strength doesn't last long. “I won't fight you, just… please...” he begs, lifting his wrists. 

His eyes are wet with tears and Arthur almost chokes on the amount of despair and shame radiating from him.

 

-x-

 

“Shh,” Arthur hushes him, stopping his attempt to turn on his front and present his bum for Arthur's taking. “I won't do that,” he whispers and straddles Emrys' thighs, hastily unzipping his jeans and pulling out his cock. 

Emrys is gorgeous, his pheromones sweet in the air. Arthur closes his eyes, breathes through the sense of wrong, wrong, wrong and works his cock ruthlessly towards release. Emrys' fingers dig into his hips as he's getting close, small gasps escaping both their lips. When he comes, Emrys arches his back and moans, greedily absorbing Arthur's pleasure. Arthur collapses on top of him, filled with a sense of deep satisfaction that has little to do with coming.

 

-x-

 

“Not Emrys. Merlin,” Emrys mumbles as they fall asleep two, this time mutual, orgasms later.

 

-x-

 

“Children of four kinds, Emrys and Dragon, united in a moment of need. Side by side, they will change the world,” Gwaine reads the prophecy he just googled, smirking. 

Behind him, Leon facepalms.

* * *

**12.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana/Gwen/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Um, nebulous 1970s setting and swingers...

_Welcome to the Dream House_

 

Arthur works late on Tuesdays, so Morgana picks up take-away for dinner and brings her own paperwork to sift through until Arthur comes home. Once she's finished her work, she has a long, hot bath with the Chanel soap Arthur bought her for their last anniversary, puts on the sleeveless green dress she rarely gets to wear, and pours drinks. Tuesday nights are usually just dinner and television, but tonight will be special. 

Arthur smiles when he sees her in that bright, open way he has, and smiles again when she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. He kisses her on the lips and presses a few softer kisses to her collarbone. 

"Did you find out?" he asks, after they've had a drink. 

Morgana leans closer to him on the sofa. She can still smell the cologne he put on that morning, and how his skin warms to the familiar scent. "Friday night, around eight o'clock," she murmurs and kisses him behind the ear with a smile of her own.

They both have another drink, and Arthur slides his hand up Morgana's dress. He still has on his shirt and tie, his dark conservative suit jacket, when he fingers her. Arthur buries his face in her shoulder and tells her how beautiful she is, how good she smells, how he's been thinking about her all day at work. 

Morgana comes with a shaking gasp around Arthur's fingers, and then again when he presses his thumb to her clit and his lips to her neck and he kisses her again and again and again. She's lucky, she's so lucky, and she loves him so much. 

*

The house they visit on Friday night is like any other house in one of the better off suburbs: plain, neat, non-descript. Morgana fishes a set of keys from the green bowl on the coffee table and lights a cigarette. 

"Are you nervous?" The woman who walks up to Morgana offers her a glass of wine and a smile that makes Morgana feel like she's in uni again. 

"Oh, I don't know... Maybe?" 

"Don't be. I'm Gwen. That must be your husband talking to mine. The one with the ears," Gwen says and nods across the room.

Arthur has a shirt and jacket on, but Gwen's husband is wearing faded jeans and a grey henley shirt; he looks like the boys Arthur used to sleep with in uni. The thought makes Morgana giddy and she easily leans into the warmth of Gwen's hand on the small of her back. 

Later that night, in the mellow light of Gwen and Merlin's bedroom, Morgana kisses just about every inch of Gwen's body before finally going down on her. Gwen's so slick and needy by then that she almost cries at the touch of Morgana's tongue inside her; Morgana presses in closer and closer to revels in heat and the scent of Gwen's body all around her. 

When Gwen comes apart beneath her, Morgana knows her own climax is only a touch away. 

* 

They go to one more key party, but stop when Gwen and Merlin agree to meet up again the next month, and the month after that. It's just not worth going back when they're already happy.

Especially not when Merlin tells Morgana and Arthur that he's pretty sure he and Gwen have found exactly what they'd been looking for after years of dreaming about it. 

*

"There, hush, you're such a good boy," Merlin says, one finger slipping down Arthur's spine to his arse to the oiled hole. "You're always such a good boy for me..." 

"He really is," Morgana says. "I'm glad somebody finally taught him how to bottom properly." 

Merlin smiles over his shoulder and shakes his head. "That was Gwen." 

Arthur just makes a whimpery sound against Gwen's breasts when Morgana reaches over to stroke his cheek. He's already wrecked; her perfect, put-together husband is already such a complete wreck, his skin flushed and his hair tousled, his cock so hard that he's probably fit to burst thanks to Merlin's attentions. 

"Well, then." Morgana turns to Gwen and kisses her full on the mouth, keeps her hand in Arthur's hair as she kisses Gwen and murmurs "thank you" a dozen times over.

* * *

**13.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Hunith  
**Warnings:** age difference (but Gwen's not underage)

There’s something about Hunith that has always made Gwen confide in her. 

Hunith sits by the small kitchen table in her nightdress, eating grapes out of a glass bowl. “I always get a bit peckish round this time,” she tells Gwen with a smile after apologising for startling her.

It's that smile. It makes her confess things she’d sworn she’d never tell anyone. Like the real reason that she broke up with Lance.

Gwen swallows back the odd lump in her throat. It’s weird talking about it, here with Merlin’s mum. It’s like she’s twelve again, whispering questions about periods with a mortified blush on her face.

She doesn’t know how to feel about the words she’s just let into the world, unchangeable. Silence fills the small kitchen as Hunith picks another grape from the bowl. 

“Before I met Balinor, I’d only been with a girl.” Hunith meets Gwen’s eyes and Gwen can’t look away, stricken. “She was my best friend for the longest time and I loved her. But I was always very confused, and I—well.”

Hunith smiles crookedly when Gwen just opens and closes her mouth. “Don’t be ashamed of what you want. Listen to your body and your heart.”

“I—thanks. Thank you.”

*

Had Hunith kissed the girl? Of course she had, she’d been in a relationship, hadn’t she?

Did they ride each other’s fingers, breasts moving with the rhythm?

Did the girl come on Hunith’s tongue?

Gwen chokes on her food and Merlin pats her on the back.

*

When they were kids they used to think Hunith had some strange superpower, always knowing what they were up to. In reality, it’s just that the walls of the Emrys house are paper-thin.

“This is just help, Gwen. I’m helping.” 

Hunith’s hands skim over her thighs, spreading them on top of her yellow floral bedsheets. 

“Just help,” Gwen says, warm and tingly and flushed. 

Her heart races as she stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the feeling of Hunith’s mouth on her and listening for signs of life from Merlin’s bedroom. Even if the room feels stuffy, the air is cool against her nipples and she cups a hand over one breast on instinct. 

She’s exposed, open and waiting for Hunith, the woman who’s always been a mother-figure, the one she’d asked whatever she could never ask her dad. 

“I’ll show you how to make a woman feel good,” Hunith’s breath ghosts across Gwen’s inner thigh and she jolts, wetness flooding her cunt. 

“Yeah.”

Her back arches when Hunith’s mouth opens against her cunt, tongue following the slit, and Gwen moans, biting her lip against the burst of sensations in her gut. She reaches up and grabs the headboard, tries not to rub herself against Hunith’s face the way she desperately wants to. 

Hunith shushes her before she opens her up with her tongue, her hands spreading Gwen’s thighs when they want to clamp down around Hunith’s head. Gwen screws her eyes shut against the building pressure, unable to keep her hips still. 

Her eyes water with the strain of staying quiet when Hunith suckles on her clit, takes it into her mouth and flicks it with the tip of her tongue. The sheets are sticking to Gwen’s back as she writhes, not knowing how to release the crushing pressure of her need. 

God, she couldn’t handle it if Merlin found her like this, her cunt spread open on his mother’s tongue, being taken apart until she’s nothing but a sobbing mess. 

She rocks her hips, rides Hunith’s face shamelessly until it’s so good she can’t tell up from down. And she comes like that, biting the back of her hand as her breath comes out in muffled, broken gasps.

When she returns the following night she puts her lips on Hunith’s cunt with purpose. She buries herself in it, drinks it like she’s dying of thirst, takes Hunith’s muffled moans as her prize. She looks up to find Hunith flushed and shame-faced, and says, “I just need to practise.”

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**14.**

**Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** none 

Arthur sat gingerly in the tattoo chair. His body was shaking with nerves but he wanted this. He had painstakingly picked out the exact design, placement, and artists for his first tattoo. But all the preparation in the world didn't make up for the cold dread at the thought of the needle going to his skin. 

"You okay?" The tattoo artist smiled, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

His name was Merlin. He was tall and ethereal and, if Arthur wasn't so damn nervous, exactly what Arthur would have lusted over. Arthur didn't pick him for his looks though. His portfolio was beautiful. A mix of detailed, intricate designs and vibrant colors. Arthur was obsessed with his work from the moment he saw it. 

"Yeah," it came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. 

"It's just my first time. And I shouldn't exactly be doing this....my father would kill me if he knew." Arthur laid his head back on the chair and took a deep breath. 

"Ahhhh that explains it. You're a virgin!" Merlin laughed and his eyes crinkled and Arthur could stop himself from noticing how pretty he was. 

"Woah woah wait. I wouldn't say that," Arthur said, feigning confidence. Merlin laughed harder. 

"Alright Casanova. I'm not trying to insult your manhood." He was meticulously pouring different colors of ink into tiny cups. Arthur felt oddly more comfortable watching his deft hands work. 

"Take off your shirt off," Merlin said his back to him. Arthur obliged. Merlin turned and met his eyes. 

"You ready babe?" Arthur took a deep breath and nodded in response.

The moment the gun touched the skin over his heart, Arthur felt the buzz travel through his body. He watched Merlin concentrate on drawing outline and felt something stir in his belly. Between the slight burning from the tattoo gun and the sight of Merlin, he felt himself grow hard. 

When Merlin reached his collarbone, Arthur felt the sting shoot down his arm and he couldn't help but let out a small moan. Merlin's eyes shot up at the noise and Arthur noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

"Stay still," he whispered, his breath ghosting across Arthur's collarbone. Arthur shivered. 

Merlin continued to work on the tattoo and Arthur just felt his cock get harder and harder. By the time Merlin leaned back and said they were done, Arthur had to stop himself from relieving some of the pressure. He was surprised, though, to see Merlin's own hardness through his tight pants. 

Merlin smirked when he caught him looking. Arthur's eyes followed his hand as it reached down and palmed his cock through his jeans. Merlin let his eyes close and let out a moan. He then leaned forward and gave Arthur the most sinful kiss he'd ever experienced. Arthur groaned and reached down to stroke his own cock. Merlin broke the kiss and looked down at him. 

"Tattooing you has been a pleasure."

* * *

**15.**

**Pairing:** Gwaine/Leon  
**Warnings:** This is ridiculous and I apologize

**SCENE I. KNIGHTS’ quarters.**

_Enter the very few KNIGHTS who still haven’t tired of GWAINE’s buffoonery._

GWAINE: …I swear to you, it is true!

PERCIVAL: Your oath is often not enough for someone to believe you.

GWAINE: For that, I’m not at fault. You all have stood beside me;  
we’ve fought together, drank together, done some…  
Other things together. And yet there’s still doubt  
in your hearts that my tales are anything but truthful.

LEON: …Other things?

GWAINE: You doubt about this, too?

LEON: I simply know not what you speak of.

GWAINE: Leon, dearest, must you play the fool?

LEON: I’m not your dear, sir. I’d rather you  
do not dub me that, if it would please you.

GWAINE: I can think of lots of things that please me.

PERCIVAL: I do not doubt you do. But come now, Gwaine,  
take your own advice to heart. Stop your teasing.  
It’s clear that sir Leon wanders not off the virtuous  
path and finds the mere thought of such acts forbidden. 

ELYAN: Percival, have you…?

PERCIVAL: Please do not inquire, brother, if lies you do not wish to hear.

ELYAN: This plea of yours is but an answer as clear as there can be.

LEON: If you would pardon me, my friends. I still do not understand.

GWAINE: _(to Percival)_ Think he needs a helping hand?

PERCIVAL: Don’t. Please forgive us, Leon. We only jest.  
Let us put an end to it and let us all go rest.

_Exit_

**SCENE II. Physician’s chambers.**

_Enter LEON and MERLIN_

MERLIN: …But I have spoken too long, now.  
Please, tell me, Sir, what ails you?

LEON: It’s not a pain that brought me here today,  
my friend, you needn’t worry. But the matter is  
most delicate, indeed, and not for anybody’s ear,  
so I thought that we might need to hurry…

MERLIN: You have piqued my curiosity!

LEON: I do not doubt it. But listen to the truth I must unveil.  
You see, not long ago, after long day’s work,  
my fellow knights and I were speaking—  
or, rather, listening to sir Gwaine’s tales.

MERLIN: This does not surprise me.

LEON: I did not expect it would. But there was something  
that he said; something in-between adventures  
and the scrambles and the swooning ladies. He told me that he…

MERLIN: Yes?

LEON: Lay with men as well as women.

MERLIN: …This was a surprise to you?

LEON: But of course! By Gods, is there anyone left  
in this kingdom with a drop of shame, a hint of discretion?

MERLIN: Leon, Leon, Leon… You’ve truly gotten this all wrong  
But fear not. I will enlighten you. I just implore you – pay attention…

**SCENE III. Private chambers.**

_Enter LEON and GWAINE._

GWAINE: I must ask of you, my dear, while I do enjoy  
your sudden change of heart, your oh-so-eager kisses,  
your gentle hands upon me,  
what truly made you seek me out tonight?

LEON: Merlin. He told me what you would not.

GWAINE: But did he show you?

LEON: He did not.

GWAINE: Do you wish me to?

LEON: Oh, please.

GWAINE: That eagerness of yours is so delicious.  
_(palms the front of Leon’s trousers)_ I wonder if this sweet would be  
anything else that you may give.

LEON: Gwaine! I beg of you, Do not remain a tease.

GWAINE: _(laughs)_ You do not have to worry, darling.  
I will do as you please.

* * *

**16.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Dark. EXTREMELY dubious consent bordering on NON-CON but with a bait-and-switch power-dynamic. Rite-of-conquest rape type set-up. I'm really sorry. This is why we can't have nice things.

This is symbolic. Like the king taking a bride's maidenhead. This is a rite of conquest. 

That doesn't mean Arthur likes it. 

'You led the vanguard, it's your victory,' says Uther. 'Just pick one, for God's sake, Arthur,'

Tiny Ealdor is of strategic importance in the war against Cenred. There are only five virgins kneeling in the mud, staring at Arthur with bloody murder in their faces. More than one of them has killed this morning.

How can Arthur do this? They would all fight him - so he'll have to fuck whoever he picksby force. It's on the tip of his tongue to refuse, even if that means that his father will do it instead, like he has before - when a bitter voice from amongst the assembled villagers says, 'I'm a virgin. Have me.'

A gangly, blood-smeared thing pushes forward. He looks like he's made of bird-bones and steel wire. 'If the prince sees nothing to his liking there, let him have me,' he says, blue eyes daring Arthur. 'If he can get it up for me, that is.'

Sir Kay clouts him. 'Show respect, or lose your tongue.'

Uther clears his throat. Arthur must choose. 'The boy,' he says. 'I'll - I'll take the boy.' He pushes into the nearest hut rather than look at his father's face.

It's dark inside. Even so, Arthur doesn't know where to look, and starts trying to disarm himself rather than think about what he's about to do - until a buckle on his breastplate catches and won't be wrenched free.

'Here,' says the boy, slipping up to him and freeing leather from metal. As the armour comes away, Arthur's doubt and his desire grow, warring with each other. The boy is everything Arthur moans in his dreams over - flat muscle, clever hands - but this is _wrong_.

'We don't have to do this.'

The boy snorts, pulls away, leaves Arthur and strips his own clothes off, fast and jerkily. 'Yes, we do,' he says flatly.

'You can't want to. Look, if we just sit it out -'

A strange expression crosses the boy's face. 'Then they'll all know you couldn't do it. I'll tell them.'

_'Why?'_

'Because this village is mine to protect and I couldn't.' The boy, who looks more like a man every moment although he can't be more than Arthur's own sixteen years, spits the words with hatred. 'At least I could save someone else from this - but now, it's even better. You don't want this, you hate the thought of it, so now I'm going to _make_ you. Fuck me, Arthur. And do it properly or I'll go out there and tell them all exactly what kind of man you are.'

By the time he finishes speaking he's done baring himself. Naked and defiant he throws himself on the big rough-framed bed, and puts his hands between his legs, in the dark space below his soft cock. He sucks his fingers wet, to work himself open, and virgin or no he must have done this before, this thing that Arthur has wanted but never dared. 

Arthur gets hard. They both do, moment by moment, until the boy is gasping and writhing on the linens and Arthur is standing helplessly watching, hands cupped over his shameful reaction. 

'Fuck me,' the boy orders. Arthur shakes his head.

The next thing he knows, he's up against the wall. 'You don't want to?' the boy asks, hand curved around Arthur's cock. 'Like you didn't want to kill my mother?'

There _was_ a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman - 

'This was her house. Her bed.'

'I'm sorry,' Arthur chokes out. 

'Are you?'

The boy shoves Arthur onto the mattress, kneels over him, forces himself down onto Arthur's cock. It feels better than Arthur could ever have imagined, good enough to make his eyes blur. It is the single worst moment of his life

'This is what you wanted,' the boy breathes, lifting and sinking, fucking himself. 'This is conquest. You won, you killed and you burned and you've _won_ so now you get this. You get to fuck me. You get to fuck whoever you like. How does victory feel?'

The tears in Arthur's eyes mix with the spray of the boy's come across his face.

* * *

**17.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Forced lactation, extremely dubious consent, manipulation

You buy the potion from a sorceress just over the Essetir border. Forbidden goods in a forbidden territory. The fear of getting caught only adds to the thrill.

You pour it into a goblet of wine two nights later, and invite your manservant to partake. Merlin - ever guileless, ever unsuspecting - drinks it.

You wait.

It’s only three days before Merlin’s posture starts to change. He hunches over. He won’t look you in the eye. 

You pull him into a friendly hug one day, and pretend to be puzzled when he winces and draws away.

There are two tiny spots of moisture on his tunic. And you think, it’s happening, oh Gods it’s happening.

***

It takes two weeks for Merlin to confide in you. In that time you’ve watched with pleasure as his little chest has swelled under the baggy tunics he now habitually wears. You suspect he’s tried to bind himself too, futilely.

There’s only one way to alleviate that kind of discomfort.

And so you corner him one night. In fits and starts he sobbingly confesses the truth.

“It must be a spell,” he stutters. “Or… or a curse-”

“Can I see?” you say. 

Merlin is reluctant. It takes a lot of careful coaxing before he peels his tunic off, lets you slowly unwind the bandage he’s wrapped around himself.

Revealed, Merlin is… breath-taking. His nipples are pink and swollen, atop the gentle curve of his new-made breasts. Best of all is the wetness already forming at their tips.

You pinch one suddenly and Merlin gasps in dismay as a squirt of milk splashes onto your fingers.

“Don’t-” he starts but you simply bring your hand up to cup the other. They’re a perfect weight in your palms, warm and thrillingly full.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” you say softly. “But I think I need to milk you.”

Merlin flinches in shame. 

“I don’t need-” he begins miserably but you cut him off.

“You do. It’s not healthy to leave them like this.”

He looks wretched and you give his nipple a reassuring caress.

“I’ll be gentle. I’ll use my mouth.”

He shivers and you smile.

***

You lie him on his side and arrange him close to your body, your leg pressed firm in between his two. Then you lower your head and begin to suckle.

He tastes so sweet. It’s like some forgotten treat from childhood, or a delicacy sampled only once in a Kingdom far away. You’ve gone without it so long and now you know you never can again.

It comes as a shock to you when you feel Merlin’s cock plumping up against your leg. You pause in your ministrations, raise your head to see his eyes are squeezed shut in denial, his cheeks pink.

“I don’t know why-” he chokes out and you hush him, awed. You only wanted his milk before but now you want everything, all that you can take from him. 

“It’s alright,” you whisper. “Perfectly natural. I’ll take care of you.”

You bring two fingers to your mouth and suck on them slowly. Then you delve your hand inside his breeches, and feel around for that little secret pucker. You slip one finger inside, ignoring the little pained noise he makes, his weak attempt to struggle away. You add another and his body sucks you in, greedy, hungry. Merlin may not think he wants this but you know better. Your fingers have found a welcome inside him and you intend to enjoy your stay.

You begin to thrust in and out and he sighs involuntarily, hips skittering against your body. You let him buck up against you, let him moan out his cries against your collarbone. When you dip your head to take one rosy nipple in your mouth again, he clenches around your fingers. So tight, so warm. 

You suck slowly, savouring the sweet milk that drips onto your tongue as you scissor your fingers back and forth. Merlin is keening now, head thrown back in unwilling ecstasy, overwhelmed by the fingers inside him and the mouth feeding from him.

His hips stutter and he makes one last desperate moan, then his inner walls tighten around you and he comes. 

A feeling of accomplishment washes over you, strong and heady. You’ve milked this beautiful boy in every sense of the word, and this is only the beginning.

Unless he realises what you’ve done to him, of course. But he never will. What does Merlin know of magic?

* * *

**18.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Character deaths (not major characters), sex pollen-ish, dub/noncon due to sex pollen sickness, war-like conditions, unsafe sex, self-lubrication.

 

Merlin ducks into the shadows just as the hovercraft turns the corner. There is a second of hesitation, but it doesn’t turn on the searchlights and Merlin is in the clear. Thank the gods. He takes a deep breath and sets off running again.

~*~

When he finally comes to a halt, he quickly looks around for any followers before taking off his backpack and stuffing it down the manhole. Even if he gets caught, he’ll make sure Gwen and the others get the vaccine. The need to protect her and Lance from the plague is embedded in his very core. How could it not be, when they’d sacrificed everything they had to keep them safe?

~*~

“Run,” he screams, “run!”

Most of them do.

Not Mordred, though. Mordred stands beside him, stubborn as only a 17-year-old can be.

“I’ll help you,” he says. “I’ve practiced. We’ll protect them together.”

~*~

Only Merlin makes it out alive--at least as far as he knows. He hasn’t heard anything from any of the others. Not a whisper, not a note, nothing.

He lets himself grieve Mordred for one night, but as the morning fog sweeps in, he tucks the pain away. Grieving can be done later. Now he needs to find water, food and a place to sleep.

~*~

What he finds instead is an unconscious, dirty man lying in a ditch by one of the deserted highways. The man doesn’t look magic--doesn’t feel magic--but Merlin can’t bring himself to leave him behind.

~*~

The building Merlin finds isn’t safe--they would need to leave the country to reach true safety--but it’s something less damp and less exposed than outside. The man stirs where he’s been laid down on the hard floor. Merlin reaches out for him and touches his shoulder gently to try to calm him. 

 

Afterwards, Merlin thinks he should have been more observant. He should have seen that the man’s blue eyes were laced with gold. He should have seen the symptoms straight away.

But he doesn’t, and the man jumps him, getting him flat on his back before he can even react. Reaching out for his magic, Merlin stops himself just in time. The man must be infected. He’s burning with it--the desire for his magic as a drug and as a cure. Without it, he’ll combust.

Using magic to keep him away will only make it worse. In one way or another, Merlin will lose this battle.

The man tears desperately at Merlin’s belt and trousers. Merlin grips the man’s biceps and tries to keep his voice calm as he speaks to him.

“You’re...” he stutters as the man practically growls at him and buries his face in his crotch. Merlin swallows. The man’s best bet is to get the vaccine and pray that it helps. “I’ll help you. We’ll get you the vaccine, we’ll think of s--”

The man swallows down Merlin’s soft cock and starts sucking on it like it’s his life’s mission. It’s the plague, the obsession, Merlin knows, but the man’s mouth... gods. He knows he should fight it, but it’s been years since someone last did this, and he’s not a good man. Not anymore. One more sin won’t make a difference--not in life nor in death.

Without much effort, the man manages to get Merlin hard and positions himself to slowly sink down on his cock. He’s already slick and there’s very little resistance when Merlin breaches him. It must be a side effect of the disease, Merlin thinks, but the more sense he tries to make of it, the less it seems to matter. Nothing seems to matter except the man grinding down on him.

He is beautiful, Merlin realises. A regal nose, red lips, a flat stomach, and a blond happy trail that leads to a thick, short cock that’s leaking an impressive amount of precome. On his chest, a thin silver chain with a letter “A” pendant bobs rhythmically with the man’s rocking movements. With a low moan, the man tips his head back and breathes out shakily. 

“I need you... to come inside me.”

Unable to disobey, Merlin puts his hands on the man’s hairy thighs and thrusts hard. The reward is a deep sigh of pleasure from the man. Merlin does it again and again.

The letter A. Merlin suddenly realises he’s seen the man before. He’s the usurper’s son, he’s...

He comes with a gasp. 

“... Arthur.”

* * *

**19.**

**Pairing(s):** Leon/Arthur  
**Warnings:** light D/s, age difference can be read into it

“Arthur?” Leon–Uther’s personal assistant–doesn’t look exactly disappointed, he never does, but there’s something about the way he exhales and pushes up his glasses–middle finger to the hinge–that tells Arthur he’s definitely in trouble. “Arthur, you know you’re not allowed in your father’s office. I have to punish you.”

There it is. Arthur purses his lips and pretends he’s guilty when he nods.

“Go to the desk, Arthur.”

Arthur goes around the desk and pushes the chair aside. He begins to undress himself, perhaps too eagerly: a slap lands on his ass. It’s the sound that comes first, always the sound, and it echoes from the walls of the room. Immediately after comes the sting of pain he savours so much. His skin warms up and the heat spreads in afterwaves.

“Your meekness cannot help you,” Leon murmurs.

Arthur takes it slow from here; even tries to put up a show. He can sense Leon’s presence behind him, and he likes to imagine Leon’s eyes appreciating the view. Arthur has a nice body, fit enough but soft, and his round, plump ass is a delight to hold, and knead, and slap. He thinks about Leon’s eyes following the band of underwear revealing more and more of it. A pleasant tinge runs down his cock and makes it harden.

“Hold onto the desk.” Leon instructs once Arthur is completely naked, and he obeys.

Cold liquid drips just above the crack of his ass and makes him shudder with surprise. The lube tickles his skin while oozing down.

“Ah-ah, don’t clench,” Leon warns him. A generously coated finger presses against Arthur’s sacrum bone and slides down between his buttocks. He exhales, tries to relax his muscles from the clench of anticipation. Leon runs his finger up and down. It’s not so much a coax rather than a tease; soon enough the finger probes, and slides in.

Arthur tilts his head back and curves his spine, pushing against Leon’s finger. Leon is motionless and it’s up to Arthur to please himself. He thinks of Leon’s cock straining against the front of his trousers: the thought makes him hard, so hard he has to let go of the desk and bring his cock onto the desk.

Leon pulls his finger out. “Are you holding tight?” he asks instead of a warning.  
Arthur nods. Then, a hand is on his hip, an index finger nested comfortable just over the bone. Something bigger pushes into Arthur. He inhales, and the anticipation makes his muscles quiver. Leon is never rough, but he is… efficient. He slides in and the slip speeds up for the last inch, the feeling of it exhilarating. Arthur can almost feel the pleasant rub against his prostate and has to bite his lower lip, but a moan escapes him nonetheless.

Leon hugs Arthur from behind and pushes in harder. He is tall enough to put his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and lick his earlobe. His neatly trimmed facial hair pricks at the sensitive skin but Arthur likes it. He tilts his head to the side, exposing additional flesh for Leon to devour.

“That’s a perfectly good suit you’re ruining,” he says, fluttering his lashes just in case Leon can see. Maybe he’s imagining it or maybe it’s the increase in speed, but Leon’s cock grows harder.

Leon sighs. “Whose fault do you think that is?” he asks, and slides one hand from Arthur’s hip to his navel, abdomen, follows the trail of hairs until his fingers wrap around Arthur’s cock. “And whose finalized contract do you think you’ll come onto?”

Arthur glances down. “Leon, please…” He tries to back away from the desk but Leon has him pinned.

“Consequences, Arthur.”

Arthur tries to push back again but Leon’s cock rubs him just the right way and makes him shudder. Leon never halts, and soon Arthur is a shuddery, gasping mess, coming all over his father’s desk and paperwork. In his ear Leon is groaning. His cock throbs, and satisfaction adds to the ripples of orgasm shaking Arthur’s body.

For a couple of moments there is nothing but their ragged breath, and Arthur is hyperaware of Leon’s hands on him.

“Father will kill me,” he says when he can breathe again.

“Oh, that’s not his copy,” Leon says, and kisses Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s mine.”

* * *

**20.**

 

 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** half-sibling incest

It’s a testament to how fucked up Merlin is when the best fuck of his life is his brother.

And by that he doesn’t mean his bros, as in his mates, as in the guys he shoots the shit with at the pub on Friday nights when really he’s aching for a cock in his arse at home. No. He means his _brother_. Different moms, same dad.

Not that you would know by how Uther acts. Arthur’s the oldest, _not_ illegitimate child and gets treated accordingly.

But Merlin doesn’t mind much, really. Because when Uther turns the overbearing, demanding dick act to eleven on Arthur, well, Arthur gets in a _mood_. And when Arthur’s in a mood he needs to take it out on someone. Merlin loves it a lot, being taken out on. By his brother.

Fucked up.

*****

To be fair, it didn’t really start with Uther, though falling back on their respective daddy issues is what they do. But no, Uther being… Uther, didn’t make them do shit. They did that all on their own.

It started in the kiddy pool.

And that makes it sound creepy as fuck. They weren’t like, boning each other when they were five, Jesus.

It was the summer before uni and they’d fill the kiddy pool with icy water for a shocky contrast to the heated pool. They were in the backyard after everyone had left, pissed and naked from playing strip water polo. Arthur whined about his dick being cold, Merlin offered to warm it, and next thing he knew he was sucking his brother’s cock. He pressed with his hands on the inside of Arthur’s thighs to spread him wide, while Arthur rested his cold beer on Merlin’s shoulder like a douche. 

“C’mon, little brother,” Arthur’d said, breathy on the ‘brother’ as he fucked up, came down Merlin’s throat. “Cocksucking champ.” He’d laughed, pushed his thumb inside Merlin’s mouth beside his softening cock. Merlin could have hammered nails with his dick.

He still spit Arthur’s jizz at his face.

*****

It’s a summer thing.

They don’t go to the same unis, mostly see each other at Christmas and during vacations when they’re both back home. 

Merlin loves summers. No one fucks him like Arthur fucks him. No one has a cock like his brother’s. Just fat and long enough to get him just right. No one knows exactly how Merlin likes it. No one knows Merlin like Arthur knows Merlin. Inside out.

Merlin’s three fingers deep, listening to the fight downstairs between Uther and Arthur. 

This one’s gonna be good.

And sure enough, not two minutes after he hears the front door slam, Arthur’s in Merlin’s doorway. Merlin could have waited for him in Arthur’s own bedroom, but somehow Arthur likes fucking his little brother in his childhood bed. Everyone has their little things.

“What did dad want?” Merlin asks, arching his back a little so Arthur has a good view of his stuffed, shiny hole.

“Whatever,” Arthur says, already taking his cock out of his slacks and pulling Merlin’s fingers out of his arse roughly. He spits on his hand, wet his dick and pushes in without stopping until he’s balls deep, has Merlin stretched good.

He fucks Merlin hard and fast just like Merlin knew he would. Enough that Merlin has to get his hands on the wall so Arthur doesn’t ram him into it. Enough that Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s hips will leave marks.

Fuck, but Arthur is _pretty_ like this. Merlin watches him in the mirror over the desk, sweaty and flushed with hair sticking to his forehead. His golden, perfect, older brother.

Arthur puts an arm around Merlin’s chest, makes Merlin’s sit on his dick, in his lap. And he grinds, comes with a loud grunt and a shiver, filling Merlin, with lips on Merlin’s throat, nosing behind his ear.

 

“Come on, Merlin,” he says, takes Merlin’s cock in his fist while he’s still fucking coming in his arse. “Make a mess.”

Merlin’s been hard for fucking ever, so it doesn’t take much--a twist of Arthur’s hand and a filthy sideways kiss. Just the feeling of Arthur leaking out of his arse, and he’s jizzing all over the sheets.

Arthur pushes him forward so Merlin lands in the wet spot, laughing about it.

Merlin rolls his eyes and spreads his arse open instead where he knows he’s all red and used and still trickling Arthur’s come.

No one eats him out like his brother does.

Fucked up.

* * *

**21.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Watersports

"Merlin, _must_ you keep squirming? You're going to give our position away," Arthur whispered.

"Sorry, sire," Merlin replied as he tried to keep still. The two of them were pressed together, in a ridiculously small tunnel-like hole in the ground, as they waited out the enemy. Merlin closed his eyes as he tried to keep his breathing even and refrain from squirming to keep his hard cock, a direct result of the close proximity, away from Arthur's ass. He cursed his luck at being so close to Arthur that he couldn't even use his magic to get them out of this predicament. There was no possibility Arthur wouldn't overhear a whispered spell. Worse still, Merlin had the ever more pressing need to pee.

Merlin managed to count all the way to two-hundred in his head before he couldn't take the pressure anymore. He opened his eyes and shifted again.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered again and Merlin stopped moving instantly. "Do you have ants in your britches or something?"

"Sorry, I..." Merlin whispered back, "I... really need to piss."

"Oh, that's just perfect. You'd better hold it, Merlin," Arthur demanded.

"I'm _trying_ ," Merlin insisted. He sighed and moved one of his hands down to his crotch to grip his hard cock over his britches. The squeeze of his hand provided a small amount of relief from the pressure in his gut but the small amount of room had Merlin's knuckles grazing against Arthur's ass with every squirm.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur warned as he shot a glance over his shoulder at Merlin.

"I can't _help_ it," Merlin insisted, feeling his cheeks grow hot with shame as he shimmied his hips again and squeezed the base of his cock, which had only grown more interested in the proceedings as his bladder continued its protest.

"Damn it, Merlin," Arthur cursed as he fought to turn around and face him completely. Merlin closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lower lip. He was unwilling to meet Arthur's own eyes when all he wanted to do was let go in some way, _any_ way.

"I thought you needed to pee?" Arthur questioned when he finally stilled and Merlin opened his eyes in confusion at the question.

"I do," Merlin insisted.

"Looks like you have an entirely different sort of problem to me," Arthur replied, clearly amused. Arthur's fingers brushed against the hand Merlin had around his hard cock to make his point, causing Merlin to release his grip in shame.

 

"What, the royal pra-highness has never woken up with a stiffy and a need to p-piss?" Merlin asked, stuttering out the last word as Arthur wrapped his own hand around Merlin's cock.

"I can never piss when I'm that hard," Arthur replied. He squeezed Merlin's cock slightly and then pulled back his hand back.

"Sire..." Merlin said, unsure of whether he was bemoaning about the withdrawal of touch or that the touch had ever been present. His question was answered when he felt Arthur tug on the strings of his britches and his hips automatically bucked forward for more contact. "Oh, gods," Merlin cursed and closed his eyes again when Arthur's hand wrapped around his bare cock.

"I find that a helpful hand is always nice," Arthur explained as he quickly stroked Merlin's cock, thumb rubbing across the exposed head as his foreskin was pulled down.

Merlin bit his lower lip once again to keep in his moan as he climaxed embarrassingly quickly to Arthur's fast and sure strokes. Once the pressure and bliss of his orgasm had subsided, Merlin was reminded of his other pressing need and he hurriedly wrapped his hand around his cock to keep from pissing all over Arthur's front.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin and laughed as he crawled out of their hiding spot. Merlin watched, stupefied as Arthur poked his head back in.

"Enemy’s moved on. Better take care of that so we can get back to camp," Arthur answered the unasked question before he disappeared out of sight again.

Merlin sighed with relief as he finally let go. He aimed the stream at the place Arthur had just vacated and watched as the earth turned darker with the wetness. Merlin let out a heartfelt groan as the steam slowed to a trickle and he imagined what it would feel like to be allowed to mark Arthur in such a forbidden fashion. Merlin smiled to himself as he tucked himself away and then went to find Arthur.

* * *

**22.**

 

 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Agravaine  
**Warnings:** Rape/non-con, underage, age disparity

Morgana's world first fell apart when she was ten years old. 

Her beloved father, Duke Gorlois, died in battle. Suddenly she found herself grieving among strangers in unfamiliar Camelot, in the care of Uther Pendragon. It was whispered that Uther had sent Gorlois to his death, deliberately withholding reinforcements. The king scared her.

Prince Arthur was her junior, and merely a brat in her eyes. 

She was alone.

The only caring person at court was Arthur's uncle, Lord Agravaine, who served on the royal council.

A dashing man in his prime, Agravaine reminded Morgana a little of Gorlois. He listened to her, and took her seriously. He had a kind and open face. She came to trust him. 

His presence made her feel safe. She started smiling again. The light returned to her eyes.

She discovered Agravaine's true nature when he took her to his chambers, having promised her a book about Gorlois' campaigns. Agravaine locked the door, pulled her tight and clamped a strong hand over her mouth. His wet lips latched onto her neck while he tore at her bodice. He toppled her into bed, his weight nearly crushing her small frame. Pulling her skirt up, he loosened his breeches and penetrated her in one forceful thrust. The pain nearly made her pass out. 

When he finally finished, he kissed and petted her, and told her that he loved her. There were tears in his eyes. She wanted to vomit. 

It was her own fault, he said. She was a temptress who had bewitched him. If she ever let anyone know what they'd done together, he'd tell Uther that she had magic and had used it on him. Being a royal ward wouldn't save her then. 

It was no empty threat. There was a frighteningly fanatical gleam in Uther's eyes whenever he spoke about the evils of sorcery. During Morgana's three years in Camelot she'd several times endured the horrific screams of girls and women burned as sorceresses on very flimsy evidence.

She left Agravaine with her dress in disarray and her mind in turmoil, pain wracking her body. 

The betrayal crushed her soul. The violation changed her forever.

Morgana told no-one. Who could she confide in? Who would take her word over Agravaine's?

Once he'd had her, his lust proved insatiable. He cornered her in her chambers, pulled her into empty store-rooms, took her out riding for hours. He'd pant revolting words of adoration at her averted face while he thrust hard, his thick cock moving in and out, in and out. He'd force his tongue into her mouth, believing himself to be kissing her, groaning and shuddering as he came inside her. 

Morgana didn't know herself any more. Her body wasn't hers. 

She hid behind her beautiful face and a too-mature, regal demeanour. 

Horror lurked behind powerful men's fake smiles. She would never make the mistake of trusting such a one again. But she taught herself to exploit their weaknesses. An enigmatic half-smile, a coy glance, a dress too provocative for her age, and lords and knights practically fell at her feet. 

Morgana was a survivor.

Gaining Uther's trust was an important achievement. Soon she risked telling him in confidence that she'd overheard Lord Agravaine praising his late brother Tristan. She feared Agravaine wasn't as loyal as he appeared. 

Uther was always quick to believe the worst. Manipulating him was easy. A few well-placed lies later, he summarily banished his brother-in-law from Camelot.

Agravaine still lived, but Morgana was rid of him. 

She was done with the bodies of men, their disgusting sweat, heavy breathing and wandering hands. 

She was fifteen years old.

*********

Years had passed and much had changed when she visited Agravaine in his exile, ordering him back to Camelot.

Morgana was in complete control. She could easily crush him with magic. He would never touch her again. 

She had nothing but contempt for him and his obsequious ways. She held his pathetic desires over his head like a whip, and made him crawl in the dust like the snake he was. 

He proved a useful minion. Agravaine's earnest smile and trustworthy appearance made King Arthur welcome his uncle back as a chief royal advisor. 

Morgana was poised to kill two birds with one stone. She could torment Agravaine and bring Arthur down.

As soon as she'd secured her rightful place on the throne, Agravaine would die.

He had it coming. The lost girl screaming inside her told her so. 

All of them had it coming.

* * *

**23.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** voyeurism, age difference, underage (Merlin is 17), slight incest (Merlin and Arthur are step-brothers)

Merlin was in serious trouble. He kept trying to look away, but he couldn't help staring at Arthur's body as he swam in their pool.

He should have said no when his mother suggested going for a swim to celebrate Arthur’s early return home, but Merlin couldn’t say no.

Arthur had the perfect swimmer's body. His muscles were well-defined without it seeming like Arthur lived in the gym. Merlin watched the water glistening off Arthur's body and couldn't help wanting to lick every droplet off.

Merlin knew it was wrong. Arthur and Morgana's father Uther and Merlin's mother had married when Merlin was 10 and Arthur was fifteen. Arthur was supposed to be his brother, but Merlin could never see him that way. 

Arthur suddenly popped up out of the water. He splashed Merlin with water.

"Don't you ever get tired of doing that?"

"Never." Arthur smirked. "You never get tired of tormenting your younger brother, especially one who's such an easy target.

Merlin dried himself off. He could feel Arthur's eyes on him.

Arthur got out and sat at the edge of the pool. "Are you getting excited? You'll be out of here before you know it."

"It'll be difficult to adjust, not having my family around, getting used to sharing a room."

"You probably won't have to share. I don't."

"Yeah, I know you love that. Sharing has never really been your thing."

Arthur grinned. "Aw, is someone still jealous they never had their own bathroom?"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur got out of the pool and put his arm around Merlin. "It's very comforting coming home and knowing things are exactly as you left them. I hope you've managed to stay out of my room." Arthur's grip tightened. " I would hate to have to kick your arse on my first night back."

Merlin pushed at Arthur. "I know your room is off limits."

"Good." 

Merlin tried to be subtle about it when he left a couple of minutes later. He didn’t know why Arthur was still so obsessed with keeping him out of his room. It must be a power trip thing.

Merlin got to Arthur’s room and shut the door. He didn't think he had left anything in Arthur's room, but he wanted to double check.

He'd had a lot of good times in Arthur’s bathroom. He put Arthur’s shower massager to good use and had several fantasies about Arthur in there.

Merlin did a quick sweep of the room and determined nothing amiss. He stopped when he heard Arthur outside his room door.

"I just want to get something out of my room."

Merlin's eyes bulged and he dove into the closet by Arthur’s bed.

After a minute, he slowly opened the door a crack. He almost swallowed his tongue when he saw Arthur bent over with his arse in full view. He was taking off his swim trunks.

Arthur turned around and started toweling himself dry. 

Merlin could feel his traitorous body quickly begin to respond. More troubling, and causing him to claw at the wall, was seeing that Arthur was growing hard, too. 

Arthur cupped his cock. Arthur slowly ran his hand down his body and then gripped his length.

When he let out a soft moan, Merlin couldn't help the way he hitched his hips slightly and began to rut against the closet door.

Arthur made quick work stripping his cock. After two more hard strokes, Arthur threw his head back and came all over the floor.

When Arthur got up, Merlin prepared himself to leave, but he was stunned when Arthur stalked toward the closet. Arthur slid open the door and Merlin was left standing there with his mouth agape and a clear erection.

“I-I can explain.”

Arthur just stared at him for one heated moment before he took a hold of Merlin’s arm and yanked him out of the closet. He took him to his bathroom. He pushed Merlin inside the tub.

“Get on your knees.”

He slowly complied. 

“What am I going to do with you, Merlin?”

Arthur stalked forward and pushed Merlin down. He yanked Merlin’s trunks down.“Brothers don’t fantasize about each other. Brothers don’t spend every night thinking about the other naked. Brothers don’t wank to images of fucking each other senseless.”

It was like Arthur was reading Merlin’s mind.

Arthur leaned over to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “That’s the way I think about you.”

Merlin whipped his head around and looked at Arthur in shock. 

Arthur just nodded slightly and looked into Merlin’s eyes. 

Merlin recognized the look of lust.

Arthur licked his lips. “What do you want, Merlin?”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Fuck me, please.”

* * *

**24.**

**Pairing:** Sefa/Isolde  
**Warnings:** potential dub-con

“Cook says ...” Sefa swallows. “We aren't to tup the knights.”

“Well now. I'm not much of a knight, am I?”

“You're still a knight.” And the most gossiped-about knight there is. There's no one in and out of Lady Isolde's chambers, but they still whisper about her. “Why me?”

“You know, I think you actually want to know.” Sefa nods. She's quiet. She isn't one of the pretty girls who get raps on the knuckles from cook for flirting with Sir Gwaine. There's no reason she ought to be standing here in the corridor, with Lady Isolde's work-rough fingers trailing across her cheek. “It's because you're nothing like him.”

Everyone knows the story of how Lady Isolde was knighted, and who she lost. “That's not a very good reason.”

Just like that, Lady Isolde retreats, and Sefa breathes. “No, perhaps not.”

*

“A lady's maid and a nurse?”

Sefa doesn't look up. “Both require stitching. Is what they're saying true?”

“That I'm King Arthur's whore? I don't think Guinevere would stand for it.”

“That he said those things to you. I suppose it is.” Sefa glances up. Lady Isolde is leaning against her bedpost, sweating, jaw clenched. She refused the ale Sefa offered to take the edge off the pain. “They always say such things. I'm glad you stabbed him.”

“Really?” A sideways glance. “I believe you are. The cook tells you not to tumble the knights, but does anyone tell the knights to leave you be?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm not a knight.”

“You're a puzzle, though.”

“Not really.” Sefa knots the last stitch. She can't be a puzzle. People like to solve those.

“Aren't you?” Lady Isolde grabs her arm before she can move too far away. “What happens if you tup the knights, Sefa?”

“Talk. Whispers. Insults, sometimes. Why do you care?”

“Because I like a puzzle.”

*

“I'll—I'll leave. It's nothing urgent.”

Isolde wipes the tears from her cheeks, businesslike, but her mouth is still trembling when she turns. “Do you have a country sweetheart you miss, Sefa? Someone else?”

“Only my father.” It's as honest as she can be. “Is there someone you'd like me to send?”

Isolde crosses the room. “Stay.”

Sefa reaches out and closes the last distance between them, her fingers catching on Isolde's sleeve. “Why?”

“Because I'd like you to.” There's no jest to it.

Sefa holds on. “Then I'll stay.”

“Simple as that? You'll risk cruel gossip, just because I want you to stay?”

Sefa has no answer. She kisses her instead. Her inexperience must show, because when Isolde pulls away she's concentrating again, not thinking of her dead sweetheart, and then her arms are around Sefa and Sefa only has to say yes for all concerns about her inexperience to disappear.

*

There's no elegance about it, no sweetness. Sefa knows even less of what two women might do than a man and a woman, but Isolde, with her head up Sefa's skirts, seems to have her ideas. She leaves nips the tender skin of Sefa's thighs, and Sefa squirms, heat building between her legs, feeling slick and strange.

Sefa pulls her skirts into a heap on her belly, so she can see Isolde's messy braid and her dark eyes and the wink she gives just before she spreads Sefa's legs and puts her mouth between them.

“Oh, what,” Sefa says, but sound leaks even through stone walls and she bites her hand, surprised at the high pained noises she finds herself catching.

Isolde feasts on her like she's something delicious to drink down, with wet noises that make Sefa's cheeks hot. She'd expected to feel ravished, if she ended up on her back in a knight's cot, but that's not it at all. Her body tightens under Isolde's clever mouth and firm grip, and there's no shame to it.

Instead, Sefa goes over a crest she didn't know was there, hand falling from her mouth as she laughs, giddy and helpless.

When she looks, Isolde is looking back with her mouth red and wet and something strange in her eyes. Something thoughtful. “Why me?” she asks, Sefa's question thrown back at her just when she doesn't have an answer.

“Because if I'm to tup a knight, it may as well be you.”

One corner of Isolde's mouth tilts up. “That's not a very good answer.”

“Perhaps not.” She reaches out. “But you can come up here and help me find another one.”

* * *

**25.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** None

Merlin pegged the handsome blond man as a difficult client as soon as he swaggered in, but he had dealt with troublemakers before.

“I’m Merlin Emrys, good to meet you,” he said, offering the other man his hand. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” the client said, his grip lingering a little longer than it should have. 

“So, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin started his introductory pitch, in his low-pitched, soothing professional voice. “If there’s anything you like or don’t like, please tell me beforehand. During the session, it’s most relaxing if we don’t talk. But of course, if the pressure is too much or anything is uncomfortable for you, please say so.”

Was the new client _smirking_ at him?

Attributing the inappropriate expression to first-time nerves, Merlin continued smoothly, “I’ll leave the room while you disrobe…” but the other man was way ahead of him, already shucking his clothes and throwing them into an untidy pile on the chair in the corner of Merlin’s workspace.

He had his shirt and trousers off and was reaching to pull down his boxers when Merlin interrupted, “You can leave those on.” 

But they were already off, and got tossed in the direction of Pendragon’s other clothes. 

“No point is a massage with clothes on, right? After all, I’m paying you for skin to skin contact.” 

Merlin took a deep cleansing breath, carefully avoiding looking below the other man’s waist. He moved to pull back the sheet, and said “Face down first, please,” in a no- nonsense tone that he hoped would show who was in charge here.

Apparently the person in charge wasn’t Merlin. 

The client was quiet for the first twenty minutes, and Merlin was pleased that he seemed to be relaxing into the massage. But as Merlin moved from the shoulders toward the lower back, carefully uncovering only a small portion of skin at a time, Pendragon said softly, “Lower.” 

Merlin carefully kneaded the muscles at the base of the spine, but the client said, more loudly, “Lower.”

Merlin stopped. He worked hard to create a soothing atmosphere in his workspace, with music and the lighting and scented oils, and arguing with a client was not conducive to serenity. He was trying to formulate a tactful response to a request he couldn’t grant, when Pendragon reached back and grabbed Merlin’s hand, planting it firmly on his ass.

Merlin jumped back, and the other man propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes dark. “Something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Merlin said indignantly. “You are asking me to give you a sexual massage. That would be both illegal and unethical. And it’s against the rules that are clearly posted in the lobby, and which you signed off on in the client agreement.”

“Oh, come on,” Pendragon said. “We both know that a lot of massage therapists offer extra services for stress relief.” He sat up as he spoke, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and opening them so that Merlin could see his hard cock.

“That may be,” Merlin said, as firmly as he could when presented with a really good-looking erection. “But I don’t do that. I could lose my job. And my license.” 

He didn’t seem to be getting through to Pendragon, who was now lazily stroking himself, his gaze locked on Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin searched for the right word. “It’s _forbidden_ ,” he finally blurted out. 

“Forbidden?” Pendragon mocked. “What a delightfully old-fashioned word! But tell me, don’t you ever feel the allure of the forbidden?”

Seeing Merlin wavering, Pendragon urged, “Tell you what. If you let me do whatever I want in this room, I will pay you double the usual rate for a massage, and a good tip, too.”

As Pendragon fisted his cock faster, Merlin realized how hot he was for him. He threw caution to the winds, and croaked out, “Triple the usual rate.”

“Done,” Pendragon answered. “Now take your clothes off.”

The festivities started with Merlin applying his massage skills with three fingers up Pendragon’s rectum, and continued with Merlin flat on his back on the narrow table while Pendragon straddled his face and fed him his cock. 

Pendragon was a gentleman and brought Merlin off with his hand after he came down his throat.

When they were cleaned up and dressed, Pendragon said, “My credit card is on file for your services.”

He took a wad of twenties out of his wallet and tucked them into Merlin’s shirt pocket.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “That would be really impressive if the money wasn’t coming out of our joint checking account.”

* * *

**26.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Ambiguous power dynamics that could be perceived as slave/master

Merlin noticed him the first time in the marketplace. Ever observant, Morgana tsked and tossed the necklace she’d been inspecting — a delicate silver net with an impressive bounty of pearls — back to its merchant like so much dross. 

“Please, Merlin,” she said. 

He shrugged off her judgment, but followed the sun-bleached hair and freckled shoulders with his gaze until the hangings of their palanquin curtained him from view.

**x**

Collecting the boy for his household was not difficult. Merlin stood at the height of the Druid court, second only to the High Priestess herself. What Merlin wanted, he received.

“I’m meant to skivvy for you, your grace?” the boy asked. 

“‘Sir’ is fine,” Merlin said, hiding a smile at the sceptical way his new charge drew a finger across the dustless entryway table. “What am I to call you?” 

“Arthur.” His eye contact was bold, worthy of swift punishment if witnessed by anyone else. 

“Arthur,” Merlin repeated. He resisted the impulse to touch the firm line of Arthur’s jaw.

**x**

“Merlin,” Arthur said, shouldering his way into the parlour. “I can’t find your robe; are you hiding it from me? I wanted to take a nap— oh!” He drew up short, noticing Merlin wasn’t alone.

“What manner of insult is this,” Morgause said. Her tone was curious, but Merlin had gone rigid beside her. Morgana’s eyes darted from the door to Merlin’s face.

“Arthur, get out,” Merlin said. 

When he was gone, Morgana laughed. To her credit, it didn’t sound forced. “What a strange affectation, naming one’s pet.” 

Morgause’s smile was thin. “Strange indeed,” she said, returning her attention to the scrying pool. Merlin’s shoulders slowly relaxed.

**x**

“What are you doing, Merlin?” Morgana hissed. “Acquiring a common labourer is perverse enough, but to keep him as a _companion_ —”

“He is no companion,” Merlin said, sharp. 

“She excuses your eccentricity, but you are asking for too much with this.” 

“I’ve asked for nothing,” Merlin said, peeling out of the shadow of their alcove to continue on into the temple. Even as he accepted his ablutions, sweet valerian perfuming the water, the back of his neck burned.

**x**

“Merlin?” Arthur approached from behind, nudging against Merlin’s shoulder in blatant disregard of the rules concerning contact. “Merlin, are you mad at me?”

“I’ve not given you permission to address me by name,” Merlin said. He could feel Arthur’s shrug.

“But you prefer it.” 

Merlin set down his pestle and mortar, turning against his work table. “What do you want, Arthur?” 

“I don’t want you cross with me.” Arthur grinned. When Merlin didn’t reply, he tilted his head, suddenly leaning in toward Merlin’s neck. “Have you been at the temple?” He trailed off as Merlin recoiled. 

They assessed each other for a long moment; Merlin could see the wheels turning behind Arthur’s sharp blue stare. 

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur lifted a slow hand to Merlin’s cheek, breath catching when Merlin grabbed his wrist. 

“Watch yourself,” Merlin warned. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Arthur said, realisation dawning. “The greatest sorcerer this world has seen — afraid of a common, magic-less human?” 

Merlin’s eyes burned hot for the second it took to remove them to the privacy of his rooms. Arthur shivered, glancing around as solid walls materialised all at once, abruptly cutting off the cool breeze they’d been enjoying on the veranda.

“I don’t fear you,” Merlin said, wry. Slowly, deliberately, he thumbed the fullness of Arthur’s bottom lip. 

This time when Arthur reached for him, he held very still, accepting the pass of breath across his mouth without reaction as Arthur leaned into his ear and inhaled deeply. 

“And I have never feared you, _Merlin_ ,” he said.

Some removed part of Merlin’s mind reflected cynically that this was all well and good, even as he finally tasted Arthur’s lips and allowed Arthur’s base, calloused hands inside his robes. Not fearing Arthur was not the same as being unafraid. 

Merlin still feared spies, and Morgana’s fickle loyalty, and Morgause’s cold rage. 

But in his own bed, head thrown back as Arthur rocked slick and heavy on top of him, Merlin fisted his common, magic-less human’s hot prick until it soiled him with come, and couldn’t find it within himself to care.

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**27.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
**Warnings:** None

“Know this, young warlock. Your destiny is tied to that of Arthur Pendragon. The witch cannot be trusted, nor is she your destiny.”  
“Well maybe she should be!”

“The witch brings only harm to Camelot, and harm to both sides of your coin.”

“Maybe she wouldn't if we give her a chance! You'll meddle in everyone's fate but Morgana's, but she's got magic same as I do.”

“You are a being of magic, Emrys-”

“And she's alone.”

The great dragon roared a warning, and bellowed, “Your choices alter the path of history, young warlock!”  
It echoed on empty halls.

The next morning Gwen opened the door.  
“Merlin! What are you doing here? Not that we don't like you, that is.”

“I have word for Lady Morgana,” he said.

“Come in,” Gwen said, and welcomed him in, closing the door behind.  
“Actually,” Merlin said, rubbing the back of his neck, “it's _only_ for Lady Morgana. Sorry,” he added. 

Gwen blinked, and immediately started protesting, “Of course! It's fine, I'll just-” She cast about the room, and grabbed the laundry. “Carry this downstairs. I'll be back in a bit. Just, leave the door open? Propriety, you know.”

Merlin nodded, and by this time Morgana had joined them.

“I'll be fine, Gwen. Thank you,” she said, then rounded on Merlin. “What's this then?”

Merlin bit his lip.

“Do you still have those dreams? The nightmares?”

Morgana's brow furrowed. “Yes.”

Merlin hesitated, then said very quietly, “Have they ever come true?”  
Morgana gasped, eyes gone wide. Then she nodded.

“It's magic,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered. “I knew, but I didn't want to say.” She drew back, pulled on her Pendragon upbringing to say, “and neither will you.”  
_”Forbearnen,”_ Merlin whispered in place of an answer. Morgana stared at the tiny flame in his hand, and hesitantly as sparks catch in damp wood, a smile grew.

“You're late,” Morgana whispered a month later. It was almost midnight, and Merlin was covered in soap and smelled of boot polish.

“Arthur's impossible,” he answered. “How've you been doing?”

Morgana's eyes glowed gold, and a sack of grain lifted almost an inch into the air before falling back to earth.

“I keep trying to practice, but everything in my room is too light, or it's too fragile. I feel like I'm.. blocked! Plugged up, or something. I'm suffocating!” She threw her arms up in frustration, but missed how the grain lifted a full six inches behind her. Merlin didn't.

“You're stronger when you're feeling something strong,” he said.

“Oh really,” she said, and looked at him sidewise.

Three weeks later in the usual clearing, Morgana's skin nearly glowed under moonlight. Merlin's too, where he lay between her legs. Arms over her bent legs, holding her open for his mouth to fit close to her cunt. There was a spell to try, for a peaceful winter on the last full moon before Samhain. Priest and Priestess, as it were, the two most powerful magic users in the land. He worked his mouth to suck at her clit, work his fingers inside her, make her moan and say not his name but the words they'd learned in secret candlelight.

As the magic took they both burst into brilliant light, gold as the drying grain. The sweat dried, their breathing caught up, and Morgana's eyes continued to glow. With a glance at a nearby log, she raised it six feet in the air.

She hummed in contentment, licked Merlin's lips clean to kiss him.

“What's got you so happy?”

“I can breathe,” she said.

* * *

**28.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** underage, teacher/student

Merlin would have loved to be a fly on the walls of Buckingham Palace the day Arthur, Prince of Wales received his Hogwarts letter. It must have been the worst day of King Uther's life and anyone who was closely involved with the royal family's security and wellbeing would have been at wit's end. The discussions about security (yes, Hogwarts was highly secured), what they would tell the press and public (no, paparazzi weren't allowed anywhere near) and how they would 'deal' with Arthur's talents (no, Arthur would not be allowed to turn politicians into toads) were endless. But Arthur did finally arrive at Hogwarts. It didn't come as a shock to Merlin that he was sorted into Gryffindor.

It was also the start of a rebellious phase. Free from bodyguards, private tutors and a domineering father, Arthur ran wild. His talents for magic weren't extraordinary and he was more likely to start a fight with his fists rather than his wand. The majority of his fellow students being from magic families, Arthur was suddenly a normal boy. But on that was used to having his way. It was the start of _many_ detentions with his Defence against the Dark Arts professor, Merlin Emrys. It almost seemed as if detention was exactly where Arthur wanted to be.

"I don't belong here!" Arthur yelled, frustrated at another failed attempt to perform wandless magic. It was his fourth year, another detention.

"You _do_ belong here, Arthur. Give it time."

Arthur looked at Merlin disbelieving. Then the look changed into something different. Merlin had been getting a lot of _those_ looks lately.

From the skin-tight trousers he wore underneath his robes to the lewd ‘wand’-jokes Arthur made to his friends every time Merlin approached, it was clear that Arthur wasn't hiding his sexual preferences.

And after nearly four years of living in close proximity to the prince, it was all getting to be too much. So Merlin may have started dropping hints about the new Room of Requirement. Passing it on his way to his chambers, when he knew Arthur was close behind. But it was another thing altogether to follow Arthur inside. He let Arthur go from detention early that day.

The Room looked like one of Arthur's royal bedrooms probably did; a king-sized bed with velvety blankets and a dozen of pillows. Merlin didn't have time to look around because Arthur was on him the second he walked through the door. Merlin willingly accepted Arthur's greedy kisses, eagerly following Arthur towards the bed. 

He should have been thinking about his duty, which was protecting the prince. But the little voices in his head were silent; there was only a loud chanting of 'Arthur, Arthur, Arthur'.

He made Arthur's robes and clothes disappear in a heartbeat. Arthur didn't even flinch at the sight of Merlin's eyes turning amber, as if he'd already understood that Merlin's magic was different and that Merlin was young despite his real age by powers more ancient than a philosopher's stone. 

Touching, kissing, licking every inch of skin he could reach, Merlin worshipped Arthur's body. The boy squirmed underneath his ministrations, begging Merlin not to stop. He was close already when Merlin sucked on the tip of Arthur's leaking cock. Merlin opened his mouth wide, taking in as much of the sensitive flesh as he could, feeling the tip hit the back of his throat. 

Arthur screamed loudly as he came. "Next time, I want you to fuck me," Arthur said the moment he'd caught his breath. 

_This is going to be the death of me after all,_ Merlin thought.

They did fuck, as often as they managed to sneak away. Keeping their absences short and irregular, linked to a detention here and an extracurricular there. 

Their rendez-vous did turn out to be educational at times. One day they were engaged in a fully clothed frotting session the moment the door to the Room closed behind them. 

"Too many clothes!" Arthur muttered, when the friction was no longer enough. 

"Make them disappear," Merlin said, amused. Stopping Arthur when reached for his wand, he added, "wandlessly."

Arthur rolled his eyes but it only took a few tries until they were both completely naked. 

As a reward, Merlin fingered Arthur slowly on the bed. First with one finger, then when he wanted to add the second, he was surprised to find Arthur’s hole wet and stretched. 

"You're getting better at this wandless magic!" Merlin said appraisingly. 

"Well... I finally know exactly where I belong."

* * *

**29.**

**Pairing(s):** Nimueh/Uther  
**Warnings:** looks like dubcon but is fully consensual, rough sex, death threats

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Nimueh laughs.

“Silence,” growls Uther.

He strides towards her, dagger drawn and ready to strike.

“Is this the day you finally do it?” she breathes, back hitting the wall. “Is this the day you finally make good on your promise?”

His face is inches from hers, rage etched into every line.

“What are you waiting for?”

He moves lighting fast, bringing the blade down across her torso. But instead of ripping through skin it shreds the thin cotton of her dress. He’s on her in seconds, lips crushed messily to hers, hands groping at her breasts as he ruts against her like a dog.

“Down boy,” she laughs again, pushing him off her with more than just her mortal strength. “I want to savour this. Now on your knees.”

“You are a witch,” he spits, “I don’t take orders from you.”

“I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion,” she says, low and dangerous. “I have walked this earth for two hundred years and I can see into your very soul. I know how much you want this. Now, proud king, on your knees.”

His glare holds strong as he sinks to the ground, trousers still tented with his unmistakable arousal. She sheds the tattered remains of her dress and walks forward until she can feel the heat from his breath between her legs.

“You know what to do.”

And he does. He all but lunges for her, clutching at her hips and pulling her down onto his face. He eats her greedily with no finesse or rhythm. She wonders what the people would think if they could see the mighty King of Camelot like a suppliant on his knees at the feet of a sorceress. At his core he is as base as any man, lapping at her cunt like a starving animal. This is a different kind of power, and it fills her in a way the Old Religion never will. Her whole body shudders against his face in release but he continues to draw her deeper into his mouth, like he knows this is his last chance to taste her. With a rough shove, she angles his head back and admires her work.

His expression hasn’t changed but now his chest is heaving with more than just rage. Her slick is smeared across his face, giving his lips a wet shine, and his length is clearly straining against his trousers.

She goes to him again and uses a foot to send him sprawling to the floor. He doesn’t fight her, just lies there and waits as she enchants the laces out of his trousers.

“You’re learning pet,” she coos, patting the side of his face as she mounts him. “So patient for me.”

He snakes a hand up her back and yanks her hair. She hisses and snaps her hips forward, dragging a moan out of him.

“One day,” he grunts between thrusts, “one day I will see you dead.”

“Oh come now Uther, we both know that’s never going to happen.”

Quick as a flash he flips them over, slamming her back into the rough stone and fucking her with hard, brutal thrusts.

“That’s right,” she sighs. “Fill me full of your rotten seed, sour and unable to produce a child.” His rhythm falters and she smirks. “You do know that, don’t you? Ygraine was perfectly healthy, it was your faulty breeding that killed your wife and almost ended your line.”

A scream of rage breaks his silence. “One day,” he hisses, venom dripping in every syllable. “I will find a way to break your vile enchantment on me, and when that day comes, I’ll rip your head from your body and drive a spike through your skull.”

She can’t contain the howl of laughter that rips from her. “Enchantment? You foolish man. The only enchantment you’re under is the one that plagues your whole sex: letting your prick do all the thinking!”

He shoves a hand to her throat, cutting off her laughter, but doesn’t stop thrusting.

“You did something to me that night, the night Ygraine conceived,” he rails. “You poisoned my mind!”

“If it makes you feel better about our little arrangement then so be it,” she gasps. “But know this, Uther Pendragon, you are under no spell of mine.”

He comes with a broken sob and stumbles to his feet, cock still dripping.

“This is the last time you’ll see me before I kill you.”

It never is.

* * *

**30.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Elena, Gwaine/Leon, Elena/Vivian  
**Warnings:**

“I’m going out,” Gwaine called, jacket and keys already in his hand.

Leon didn’t look up from his book, just nodded, uninterested.

That was what they had been reduced to. Leon probably knew that there was someone else. They’d married too young, too hastily, then grown apart. It happened.

“Don’t wait up.” 

As if he would.

Gwaine left the top down on the car as he sped through the city, letting the night air blast away his worries and fears. What he was doing was wrong. But it was more than just adultery. The penalty for what Gwaine was doing, if they were caught, was a slow, painful, public death. 

A couple were on the news yesterday, the woman bloated with the Sinner’s Virus. They’d been paraded in public, showing their sin for all to see before the execution. The virus was a constant fear. But they were careful, had medical checks before they’d started the affair. They’d been clean. The woman… 

He couldn’t bear the thought of Ellie screaming in agony like that.

The observatory was in darkness. It was where Elena worked, remote enough that they shouldn’t be caught. It was almost safe. But their love would never be safe.

He parked his car out of sight, then slipped through the side door and headed for the roof. It had been weeks, and he was desperate for her.

They’d met at an evening class there. He’d watched as she talked passionately about the stars, seen the way her face lit up at his interest. He’d kissed her later, under the stars. They’d first made love there too, tentative, exploratory, then with fulfilment Gwaine had never found with anyone else.

They both had loveless marriages, but at least Leon was a decent person. Vivian was a spoilt, vicious bitch who didn’t deserve his sweet Ellie. If things were different Gwaine would have spirited Elena away long ago.

Things weren’t different. The law was the law. No interspecies marriage. Different species couldn’t breed.

He and Leon hadn’t done their duty, visited the incubation centre and created the single child they were allocated yet. Two people, one child. The resultant population fall was a triumph for the Empire. Gwaine didn’t care about having children, all he wanted was Elena. But their love was wrong.

If it was wrong, why did Ellie feel so good in his arms? It shouldn’t be about species, it should be about love. It should only ever be about love.

“Gwaine!” 

She rushed at him as soon as he opened the door onto the roof, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily.

“Missed me?” he whispered.

“Like burning.”

Pretty Ellie, all blonde hair and blue eyes, always smiling even when Vivian had been cruel. He felt a brief pang when he thought of Leon, then pushed the feeling away, sweeping Elena up in his arms and carrying her over to the blanket she’d laid out for them.

Then it was just as it always was, wild and desperate, both of them eager for the other. Ellie was always hot and wet for him, groaning as he pushed inside her, filling her. She smelled of flowers and gave needy little gasps as he fucked her, moaning her pleasure as she came. He could feel her climax clenching around him, and it set off his own.

“I love you,” he heard her whisper as she clung to him, and when he said it back he meant it. Yet there was something wrong, he could tell. 

“Still ill?” he asked, fearing the answer. It had just been a little sickness, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

“I stopped being sick. But Gwaine…” she placed his hand on her stomach, and there was no mistaking the gentle swelling there. “I’m frightened.”

It scared Gwaine too. But he had to be brave, for her. 

“It might not be that.”

“It is, I know it. Men and women aren’t supposed to be together. It’s the law. They’ll say we’re an abomination. They’ll take us to the square, they’ll make you watch me die and then they’ll… Oh Gwaine! I can’t bear what they’ll do to you!”

He held her close, stroking his hand over her stomach. He thought he could feel something in there, moving. She couldn’t die, not his Ellie.

“We’ll run,” he promised. “There’s places we can go, far from here. People who can save you.”

“Really?”

He wasn’t sure. But he smiled reassuringly, and took her hand.

* * *

**31.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Flirting and sex at work (sort of).

“Someone’s planning a fun night, eh?”

Gwaine hadn’t intended to pick the worst possible combination of items to buy on a Tuesday night, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get called out on it by the cashier, but here he was. The cashier was exactly Gwaine’s type, too: dark hair, skinny, probably looked great in tight jeans and eyeliner. Gwaine wasn’t usually one to flirt where he shopped, but he could make an exception.

“You probably don’t see too many guys buying duct tape with their wine and condoms,” Gwaine said, grinning.

“You’d be surprised. This isn’t the weirdest purchase I’ve checked out,” said the cashier. “It’s actually pretty benign compared to a few of them.”

“Yeah?”

“An old man came in once to buy Viagra, hand lotion, and a Teen Vogue magazine.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. The joys of working retail,” the cashier said, scanning the wine bottle. “You’ll have a tough time coming up with something I haven’t seen before.”

“Will I?” Gwaine said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the cashier’s nametag. “That sounds a bit like a challenge, _Merlin_.”

“Cash or credit?” Merlin asked, but he was smiling anyway.

—

A few days later, Gwaine came back.

“Oh God, you were serious about that challenge, weren’t you?” Merlin said as Gwaine set a box of condoms, some lube, and a single banana on the conveyer belt, much to the horror of the baby-boomer behind him. “You’re going to have to try a little harder than that, though. I’m afraid that’s not very creative.”

“I guess I’ll just have to come again later,” said Gwaine, smirking. “But hey, at least you got to check me out.”

Merlin snorted. “Also not very creative. You realize I’m not actually allowed to flirt with customers, right?”

“Hm,” Gwaine said. “It’s a good thing I don’t like playing by the rules then, eh?”

—

“How much money are you planning to _spend_?” Merlin asked later that week, scanning the tag the skimpiest chemise Gwaine could find.

“I’ll have you know that I actually did happen to need batteries and whipped cream.”

“And the, uh, lingerie?” 

Gwaine shrugged in mock nonchalance. “That color brings out my eyes.”

—

“Hey, did you write your phone number on the cash you paid with last time?” Merlin asked as he put Gwaine’s latest purchase—dog treats, a dog collar, and lube—into a paper grocery bag.

“I might have,” Gwaine conceded. “Depends. Were you thinking of calling me?”

Merlin started rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…. How about…. My shift ends in fifteen minutes. You should, um, meet me then, by the employee entrance around back. If you want?”

And Merlin looked so goddamn adorable just then, embarrassed and holding up the line, that Gwaine had to suppress the urge to kiss him right there in the middle of the store. “Sure thing, gorgeous,” he said instead, giving Merlin a wink. “I can wait.”

—

The night air was a little chilly when Merlin met him outside.

“Hey,” Gwaine said.

“Hey,” Merlin replied. 

“I sort of miss the uniform,” Gwaine said, gesturing to the new outfit. Merlin had lost the tacky blue polo and was wearing a dark jacket with a scarf instead. “I’d gotten used to cashier-Merlin.”

“Oh, yeah, well. I figured if we were going out for drinks or something….”

“Mm-hm…” said Gwaine, taking a step forward. “But what if I don’t want to wait until after we get drinks to kiss you?”

“What?” Merlin said, but his eyes had slipped down to look at Gwaine’s lips. “Oh, um. Yeah.”

So he kissed Merlin, slow at first, then hard, all tongue and teeth. Merlin responded with equal enthusiasm, letting himself get crowded up against the brick wall of the supermarket. Gwaine felt Merlin’s hands thread into his hair, so he pushed his leg in between Merlin’s thighs, rubbed the hard line of Merlin’s cock. Merlin groaned against Gwaine’s mouth.

“I want to suck your dick,” Gwaine whispered.

“What, here?” Merlin said, panting. “I could get fired. You can’t give me a blowjob right outside the store I _work_ at.”

Gwaine dropped to his knees and looked up at Merlin through his lashes. “Are you sure about that?”

“ _Fuck…_ ” Merlin groaned again. He didn’t protest when Gwaine unzipped his jeans, or when Gwaine pulled out his cock, or when Gwaine took him in his mouth. Instead he just whimpered and clutched at Gwaine’s hair. When Merlin came, he shut his eyes tight and bit his lip in a way that made Gwaine want to kiss it all over again.

“My place?” Gwaine asked, smirking. “I’m pretty well stocked.”

* * *

**32.**

**Relationship(s):** Background Gwen/Morgana and Mithian/Elena, foreground Mithian/her own sexuality  
**Warnings:** None

**"We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are." -Chimamanda Adichie**

_Gwen reaches out, brushes her fingertips across Morgana's palm-_

-or does she? Is that right? Mithian tugs on her hair, frustrated.

"I have sex with women! Why can't I write about it?"

"I don't know," Elena shouts back from the living room, "but you've two hours 'til the deadline. I'm posting now!"

"I hate you," Mithian says, but she means _I hate that I can't find the words and you can._

**"We police girls. We praise girls for virginity, but we don’t praise boys for virginity. [...] We teach girls shame. [...] We make them feel as though, by being born female, they’re already guilty of something.**

_Morgana's lips trail across the soft skin under Gwen's jaw._

_"When I watch you on the sidelines, I want to dress myself in armour and knock every one of those knights on their backsides. I want you to look at me that way." She whispers it like a secret against Gwen's skin, dangerous to keep, deadly to share._

_"I do," Gwen whispers back. "But never where anyone else can see, because it's not for them. It's only for you."_

"Argh! I sound like a fucking romance novel!"

Elena rushes in. "Ok, breathe. Breathe with me. In. Out. That's it." Once Mithian is breathing again, she asks, "What's wrong?"

Mithian inhales, squeezes her eyes shut, and says, "All the ways I've learned to talk about sex with women have nothing to do with actual sex I've had with women. I feel like every time I try to write the sex itself, I shy away from it. I get purple or trite and-" she hiccoughs "-why is it easier to write about two guys when I have no reference for that? Why does it feel more authentic, serious, and _real_ when the characters in the original source aren't like me?"

"Oh, baby." Elena wraps her in a fierce hug. "It gets in our heads, other people's words and rules. I'm so proud of you for fighting."

"But I'm losing," Mithian whispers.

 **"And so, girls grow up to be women who cannot say they have desire. They grow up to be women who silence themselves. They grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think."**

"I think," Mithian says, her forehead pressed to Elena's chest, "that deep down, I'm embarrassed to admit I like sex. It's easy to say it in an over-the-top way when everyone else does, isn't it? But I was raised with this kind of shell around me, where truly, honestly admitting how much I like sex in full daylight outside my bedroom is hard. Saying it to people who aren't my partner is hard. I feel exposed, like I'm waiting for judgment."

Elena kisses the top of her head. "It's hard, yeah. Drawing and writing are bits of your heart on the screen, and it's terrifying to let people see the truths inside you."

"I don't know how you do it." Mithian sniffles slightly. "I really envy you sometimes."

"Don't. I- I have my own issues, you know. I can write sex that has women in, but it's really hard for me to write love and tenderness like you do. I feel so awkward with that stuff."

"I write that to avoid body parts touching," Mithian admits.

There's a pause, then they both burst out laughing.

"We're a mess," Elena declares. "So how about this time, you write one line with body parts touching, and I'll go edit my entry to add one line with emotion that isn't hatesex or pure lust. And we'll go from there?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." But Elena is grinning.

**"I’m trying to unlearn many of the lessons of gender that I internalized when I was growing up. But I sometimes still feel very vulnerable in the face of gender expectations."**

_Gwen draws Morgana's head down to her chest, arching to push her breasts forward in a silent request. Morgana takes one nipple in her mouth and sucks lightly, teasing, while Gwen's hands tangle in her hair._

_"I want your fingers," Gwen says._

_Morgana might have teased, might have asked 'where?', but instead she dips her hand down and slides two fingers deep into Gwen's wet folds, pressing her palm against the swollen outer lips and rubbing a firm circle that has Gwen's breath hitching. ___

"I did it," Mithian says quietly. "I fucking did it."

* * *

**33.**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Incest (brothers), age disparity (26/16)

Arthur had the pillow clamped tight over his head, but it didn’t do much to muffle the rustling of sheets across the small, stuffy room. Every sound was magnified in the still night, the sharp inhales and ragged exhales seeming so close that Arthur imagined he could feel his brother’s warm, wet breath against his neck. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it captivated him; shame and humiliation clawed at Arthur’s throat as he felt himself getting hard.

Arthur had never known quite what to do with Merlin. Born ten years later, Merlin had always seemed like a simple nuisance, an inconvenience around whom Arthur easily crafted his life. But at some point in the past few years, Merlin had emerged from the awkwardness of pubescence into a sharp-featured pretty boy with long, lean limbs and a secret smile that caught Arthur by surprise every time.

They’d spent a lot of time together this summer, cooking atrocious meals their mother refused to eat and playing footie one-to-one in the garden, shirtless and panting. It was impossible not to notice the dark trail of hair down Merlin’s abdomen, inviting Arthur’s eyes to the curve in the front of his brother’s shorts.

Merlin was indecent. The kid had no sense of shame, no boundaries to speak of, just reached into his pants to readjust himself whenever he felt like it. Surely it was not Arthur’s fault that he tracked the motion with his eyes, and the thick pounding of blood in his ears was embarrassment, not lust.

Not lust.

Arthur’s cock jerked in sympathy when he heard Merlin come, an urgent, quiet “ _Ah!_ ” drifting over to him followed a moment later by the slow pull of a tissue from the box, somehow louder for its attempt at discreetness.

Why couldn’t Merlin just wank in the shower like a normal sixteen-year-old? That’s what Arthur had been doing all summer, hand curled tight around himself under the hot spray as he tried to think of nothing and inevitably thought of _something_ , of pretty, pink lips wrapped around him and, on one occasion that still made his skin crawl, of the long stretch of Merlin’s pale back as fantasy Arthur fucked into his virgin arse.

Though they hadn’t had much of a relationship to speak of for most of Merlin’s life, they’d easily fallen into the brother routine, ridiculing one another, kicking each other from opposite ends of the settee, and wrestling over who got the last ice cream. The only difference, Arthur suspected, was that most brothers probably didn’t have to keep their hips carefully turned away to avoid cock confusion.

Merlin was laid out on his back on the carpet, remote control held high above his head, one long arm outstretched and the other fighting to shove Arthur down his body, to keep the prize out of his clutches. Focussed solely on the objective, Arthur planted his knee on the ground between Merlin’s legs and used the leverage to grasp the remote. Stretched out along Merlin’s body, pressing flush against his front, Arthur’s thigh slotted into place against Merlin’s groin. They shared a look of horror as they seemed to realise in unison that Merlin’s shorts failed to conceal the thick flesh of his hard cock.

Arthur’s fingers lingered with Merlin’s around the remote, and neither of them moved. The question on Merlin’s face, so close to Arthur’s, was knitted clearly between his eyebrows, and Arthur realised a beat too late that he should have pulled away. With a bravery Arthur would never have anticipated, Merlin quirked his mouth into a self-satisfied smirk and ground his cock up against Arthur’s thigh, letting out a slutty groan.

“Fuck,” Arthur said, “Mer—” The second half of the name was swallowed up in Merlin’s mouth, hot and needy in a way that had Arthur clamping his thighs around Merlin’s leg and rutting against him like a randy teenager.

It was Merlin who pulled down their shorts, Merlin whose spit-slick hand surrounded them both as they fucked against each other, Merlin who came with a moan Arthur knew he’d replay in guilty wank sessions for years to come.

Arthur’s shame was not quite strong enough to keep him from shooting his load all over Merlin’s hips and cock and balls, from staring at the mess they made with hunger, from sucking down Merlin’s come later that night. There would be time enough for self-loathing once summer ended.

* * *

**34.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin

Merlin’s ears pricked at the sound of approaching footsteps. His heart started to race and he froze as the door opened. Logically, he knew that he and Arthur were the only ones in the flat but that didn’t stop a flicker of fear that an unexpected visitor could find them like this.

No-one raised the alarm though, and when the footsteps stopped in front of him, Merlin could hear Arthur’s breathing and relaxed. It felt like he’d been waiting for eternity for Arthur to return and his body thrummed with anticipation of what Arthur would do to him.

Merlin clamped down on a protest as Arthur walked away which turned into a huff as heard Arthur sit on the sofa. The next thing he could hear was the sound of paper rustling. Reading? Arthur had Merlin kneeling naked and hard on the floor for him and the best thing he could think of to do with that was _read_?

“Something you wanted to say, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice feigned innocence.

Merlin shook his head sharply.

“Good. Because I don’t recall giving you permission to speak yet.” 

Prat. Merlin glared in Arthur’s general direction through his blindfold. 

“You really are going to have to come up with some new insults. That one’s getting a little tired.” Arthur commented, but flicked over another page. “I’ll get to you in good time, don’t you worry.” 

So Merlin waited. He kept his hands clasped behind his back at Arthur had instructed and did his best not to fidget. With not much else to do, he closed his eyes and thought about what they might get up to when Arthur got to him. Would he let Merlin move? Remove the blindfold or leave it on to keep him guessing? When he finally touched Merlin, would he be allowed to come or would Arthur hold him on the edge for as long as he could? Or would Arthur lose control as well and just bend him over the sofa and fuck him? 

Dammit, these thoughts were doing nothing to ease his throbbing dick. But by this point, Merlin was too turned on to even try and think about anything else.

Arthur slammed the book shut suddenly, causing Merlin to jump. 

“Do you know what you do to me, Merlin?” Arthur was close now, whispering right in Merlin’s ear. “Kneeling there, ready, just waiting for me?” 

Merlin’s breath hitched and he nodded. It was taking every shred of self control he had not to lean forward and touch Arthur in any way he could. 

Arthur’s fingers closed around his cock and Merlin keened, thrusting his hips forwards. Arthur wasn’t having any of that though, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist to keep him still. Merlin had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from begging; he desperately needed to be touch.

Even at Arthur’s torturously slow speed, Merlin wasn’t going to hang on for long. He’d been worked up for too long and after a few strokes, the familiar warmth spread through him and he spilled into Arthur’s hand. 

Merlin sighed and sagged back into Arthur’s arms as he recovered. He put his hands up to remove the blindfold but Arthur batted them away. “You don’t think we’re done yet, do you? I’ve got plenty more to do with you today.” 

Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet and angled them towards the door. “You’ve done such a good job keeping quiet; now I want to see how much you can annoy our neighbours.”

Merlin laughed, he was sure Gwaine and Morgana would be thrilled by that.

* * *

**35.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warning(s):** D/s, punishment, Daddy/boi, face-slapping  
~~~  
It’s the end of an incredibly trying, incredibly _long_ day in the office and Merlin just wants to go home. Everyone else in the office has already gone for the weekend; the only person left besides Merlin is the night admin assistant and it’s almost time for her to leave as well. Switching off his computer monitor, Merlin heaves a sigh and looks at the mess on his desk. It will have to wait.

Two new client intakes, three individual sessions, and a session of group therapy was already a rough day; having to stay late, calling in favors to get a recently relapsed client into treatment sapped the last bit of Merlin’s will for the day. The mental health system is fucked and Merlin knows he’s doing the best he can, but he still feels rage every time another hospital tells him they have no beds open. There’s nothing more he can do tonight. It’s time to go home.

Grabbing his messenger bag from the hook on the wall, Merlin turns off the lights and turns to leave his office, only to open the door and find his fiancé standing there, looking almost murderous. It’s only then that it hits Merlin exactly what time of night it is.

Fuck.

‘Daddy…,’ Merlin starts gently, mind already racing to construct the apology that Arthur’s expression tells him will be of no use. This is the second time this week that he’s stayed late at work and forgotten to send an update text home by office close. He is in trouble.

‘Do you think that what is ask you to do is unreasonable,’ Arthur asks, voice quiet and sharp in the empty hallway. 

‘No, but--,’ Merlin tries, still attempting to rationalize his mistake, going quiet when Arthur grabs him by the neck and pushes him backward into the dim office. Merlin hears the door close firmly and then it’s just darkness.

_‘There’s only one sound I want to hear out of that mouth of yours.’_

Arthur’s voice is low, deadly serious, and the tone pierces Merlin’s chest through the darkness. Merlin’s heart is pounding and his eyes are burning from the tears already welling up. Arthur’s hand is still around his throat, reassuring and chastising all at once. Merlin knows that Arthur isn’t angry, just tired and disappointed, and the reality has a lump forming in his throat.

_‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’_

Merlin is sobbing in earnest by the last syllable, fat tears dripping down his cheeks and pooling where Arthur’s finger meet his jaw. He feels like a failure. He can’t even follow the simplest rule. Merlin feels them flex imperceptibly and braces himself right before Arthur’s other hand connects with his cheek.

The blow isn’t hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to get Merlin’s attention and bring him back to ground. Arthur can always tell when Merlin’s mind starts spiraling and this is how he always brings him back. Arthur is the only person Merlin has ever trusted enough to slap him in the face, to _ask_ to slap him in the face; the feeling is a visceral reminder of the connection and the trust between them. Even as the tears continue to fall, Merlin’s mind clears.

Arthur’s grip on his throat loosens and Merlin feels himself being enveloped in Arthur’s arms. The feel and smell of him is overwhelming; the tears don’t stop coming and Merlin realizes just how tired he is and how much he needed Arthur here. How much he needs him now.

 _’May I please apologize,’_ Merlin asks softly, fingers already sliding Arthur’s belt out of its buckle. Merlin has Arthur’s zipper lowered by the time Arthur says _’You may.’_

The weight of Arthur’s cock in his mouth affirms for Merlin that the apologies between them are as much for Merlin as they are for Arthur. He knows he was forgiven in the moment before the slap. Merlin hates nothing more than feeling like he’s failed Arthur—failed _them_ , and the feeling of Arthur’s hand clenched in his hair and Arthur cock pressing into his throat are a reassurance. The scent of Arthur in his nostrils brings Merlin back to who they were before they were _this_ , reminding him that there was a them before this and that his missteps will not undo that.

He is a loved boi. He is cherished boi.

Merlin is still crying as Arthur’s cum coats his tongue.

* * *

**36.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Lancelot  
**Warnings:** infidelity, power dynamics

“We ain’t got but one room,” says the innkeeper, a bored-looking man with a bright red nose. “Your mistress is welcome there, and you can have the hay in the barn.” He pauses to leer up at Gwen on her horse. “M’wife’s sick, but I can prepare your fire and fetch your dinner, milady.”

Gwen opens her mouth to say that Lancelot isn’t her servant, and that she needs no help to light a fire, but Lancelot beats her to it:

“I can see to my mistress’ needs well enough myself.” His tone is cold, and the innkeeper shrugs before turning away. 

Lancelot reaches both hands up to her. “My lady?”

Gwen grimaces at it—there is _no need_ for this charade—but she has been on a horse all day, and Lancelot said the words “my mistress” and meant _her_. If Lancelot wants to pretend to be a servant, let him.

Lancelot’s hands burn against her waist when she dismounts.

*

Gwen didn’t want to spend three full days alone with Lancelot. But when Arthur had assigned him to escort Gwen to Meredor, she could think of no rational objection.

She is still— _still_ —incandescently angry with him. He _left her_ , without farewell or discussion. He’d walked away like Arthur had some prior claim, and Gwen’s own opinion didn’t matter. Like she was a farm animal they were haggling over.

Gwen’s love for Arthur, because of course she does love him, is easy. Comfortable. True.

Her love for Lancelot itches like scar tissue.

*

Gwen sits in a chair and watches stiffly while Lancelot builds her fire, tightens the mattress ropes, and fetches up water.

“Do you need anything else?”

Gwen didn’t need any of it; he just did it, without asking. 

Her simmering mood must be apparent on her face, because Lancelot frowns and dips his chin. “I will leave you, then.”

“Remove my boots?”

Gwen hadn’t meant to say it, or perhaps she had, but more commanding and sarcastic. Somehow her mouth filters the words into a question.

Lancelot stares for half a beat before sinking straight to his knees. His hands hesitate at the hem of her dress but eventually sneak under and start to tug at the laces of her boots.

Gwen finds herself staring at the bedposts over his head. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and her shins tingle and thighs jerk as Lancelot’s hands work methodically work up the laces of each boot.

His hand cups the back of her calf, under her skirts, when he pulls them off. It’s a step too far, really. She should object.

Lancelot looks up under his lashes. “Anything else?”

“Rub my feet.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and this is going somewhere from which they cannot easily return, but Gwen can’t stop. Lancelot owes her this.

His thumbs dig into the arches of her feet, and Gwen’s breath turns audible.

“Harder,” she tells him,.and Lancelot arranges a fist against her arch.

“Here, press down,” he says. And she does, rolling her foot against his knuckles.

Lancelot’s eyes are dilated. “Use me as you see fit,” he adds.

Gwen is full of some feeling she can’t explain, something lustful and drunk, with a sharp edge of resentment.

She stands up, but holds a hand to keep Lancelot where he is.

He’s panting. He’s actually panting through his open mouth, on his knees, and Gwen has never felt so powerful in her life. 

“Put your tongue out,” she hears herself say.

He does. They stand there for a long moment, and he doesn’t take it back in, just breathes around his tongue and lets it drip spit down his chin.

Gwen’s hands form fists in her skits, and she pulls them up, little by little. She puts a hand on his head and pushes it down, makes him huddle to reach the vee of her thighs with his face.

“Oh,” she says, almost surprised, when he begins to lap at her with a strong, twisting tongue.

“Give me your hands,” she whispers. She arranges the fingers of one hand to hold her open so that his tongue can reach where she’s warm and dripping, and places his other hand so it will hold up her skirts. Perfect.

They are so, so far past the line right now, but Gwen is _owed this_. She stands there and ruts against his mouth, makes his spit cover her thighs, gets his tongue up her cunt.

* * *

**37.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Catrina  
**Warnings:** None

An Unconventional Beauty

Arthur felt Catrina’s breath, hot on his neck. Her tongue slithered to his earlobe and tasted the sensitive skin she found there. The sensation of her lips went straight to Arthur’s cock.

Arthur always had a fondness for, what some may call, _unconventional beauty_. Of course he had bedded his share of fair-haired maidens with pert breasts and slim waistlines. Their perfect teeth and comely features bored Arthur to tears and did nothing to stir his libido. No, Arthur’s tastes were for the _unusual,_ not the cookie-cutter beauties that his father paraded in front of him, in hopes that he would someday select a bride.

The gods knew Arthur had chased after his scrawny manservant from the moment he first arrived in Camelot. Merlin, with his over-sized ears and country-bumpkin manners, sadly had rebuffed Arthur’s attempts at wooing. Ever patient and noble, Arthur bided his time until the next unconventional beauty caught his eye.

Some may consider it a forbidden relationship, but when Catrina was spurned by none other than Uther Pendragon, who rejected Catrina after discovering the truth about her appearance, Arthur’s curiosity was piqued. In no time at all, Catrina was eating out of Arthur’s hand… and messily so.

Arthur loved the way Catrina laughed when he discussed some princely matters of the court with her. She chortled wildly when he told her that he was no longer convinced that sorcery was thoroughly evil. 

Catrina encouraged Arthur to do what he believed was right, gruffly saying, “You’re the prince. You have no obligation to keep your father’s rules. Someday, you will be king!”

“And you will be my queen,” Arthur said affectionately.

Arthur took Catrina into his arms and looked deep into her watery eyes. It seemed a shame that no one had ever considered Catrina’s great beauty before. There was something about seeing a woman in her natural state that aroused Arthur. He was tired of the women who made themselves up and presented false images to the men of the realm, in hopes of luring them into marriage. Even his dear friend Gwen had taken to lining her eyes with kohl and reddening the apples of her cheeks in hopes that she would attract a suitor. Arthur was glad that Catrina had no need for such deception. Hers was a natural beauty.

Arthur pressed his lips to Catrina’s carefully, so he wouldn’t be speared by one of her sharp teeth. He licked inside her mouth, inhaling deeply. She tasted of seaweed and goat cheese, but Arthur was always fond of the seaside, and the cook’s goat cheese-stuffed endives suddenly became his favourite appetizer. From this moment on, Arthur would ask for the cook to prepare it daily, in honour of his new lady love’s scent.

Catrina pulled Arthur closer. Her yellow fingernails dug sharply into his muscular arms. Arthur hoped she would leave her mark on him, claiming him as her own, so everyone would know she belonged to him. He made a mental note to strip off his tunic while training the following morning, so everyone could see that he belonged to Catrina.

Arthur ran his fingers through Catrina’s lank hair. She sometimes wore a crown of flowers, but to Arthur, such embellishments detracted from the beauty of her grey skin.

“I want to make love to you,” Arthur said.

He embraced Catrina tightly and admired the way her saggy breasts squashed against his powerful chest. It was a joy for Arthur to finally have a partner with some meat on her bones. He dreamed of how wonderful it would feel for her to massage his aching limbs after training. No delicate hand could make him feel the bone-deep contentment of Catrina’s heavy hands on his weary muscles.

Arthur led Catrina to the bed and pushed her onto the plush pillows. She farted loudly and sustainedly, music to Arthur’s ears.

When Arthur yearningly rustled through her dingy petticoats, he was delighted to find that she smelled like the ocean at low tide. Catrina groaned with every movement of Arthur’s fingers as they sought her most intimate place. He grabbed each side of her labia and found that her lips there were as hard as a turtle’s shell. Crusty flakes of dead skin sloughed off beneath his fingers. Her clit was swollen purple with bruising from all the scratching, but it didn’t bother Arthur. He dove down to lavish attention on her with his tongue. Unconventional, yes, but he had never tasted anything finer.

* * *

**38.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** slight dubcon, implied knotting, maybe bestiality. So many potentials but not really.

“ _What have you done?_ ” Morgana hissed, rushing forward to the shivering man that lay collapsed on the ground.

Merlin’s jaw, which was already hanging open at the sight before him, fell further in outrage. “I just saved his life!”

“You shapeshifted him! That’s forbidden magic!” Morgana scolded, hurriedly removing her cloak to cover the man’s nudity.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Merlin argued. “My exact words were ‘Magic, do as you will’ and the magic chose to turn him human! You can’t tell me it’s forbidden when the magic itself—”

He fell silent when they heard the phoenix’s cry echo through the trees. They waited in silence until they could no longer hear the roar of flames on its beating wings.

“You turned a dragon into a man.” Morgana shook her head. “Not even magic should have enough power to do that.”

Merlin was inclined to disagree. If Uther had the power to use a phoenix to hunt down and eradicate the world of dragons, then magic should have the power to fight back.

-

Turns out dragons were cocky prats.

In a last ditch effort to save dragons from becoming an extinct species, the three of them marched straight into Uther’s stronghold under the guise of a nobleman and his servants.

It was a terrible plan, but it seemed to be working so far. Arthur (the dragon’s assigned very boring name so that no one would expect him of being anything other than a local human) took to nobility with a flourish, using Merlin and Morgana to help disguise anything he was unfamiliar with.

“Cut my meat.”

“Fill my cup.”

“Put my feet in my boots.”

“Adjust my cloak. I’m cold.”

“Take this. I’m tired of holding it.”

“This castle is boring. Entertain me before I decide to destroy it.”

It was the latest order that gave Merlin pause.

“Merlin, come here. I have needs I want you to tend to.”

It wasn’t much of a pause, seeing as how Merlin was now on all fours on the luxurious guest bed, wondering at what point was it okay to tell a dragon no.

“I don’t see why Morgana couldn’t be the one doing this. She’s better equipped for the job.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Arthur toying with the oil he had covered his fingers in. “Less prep work involved, too.”

“Yes, but seeing as how she’s the one who originally tried to lock me in a cage, I’m not inclined to like her very much.” Arthur’s fingers circled Merlin’s entrance. “You on the other hand…”

Merlin hissed in a breath as he was breached, pushing back against the digits as he was stretched. For someone who had never done this before, Arthur seemed to know just how gentle to be and the best places to press his fingers against.

“Besides,” Arthur continued as he finally withdrew his fingers from a breathless Merlin and moved himself into position. “The gift of a dragon’s seed is too much for her; she would be corrupted with its power.”

Before Merlin could ask just what _that_ meant, Arthur was pushing into him, and holy fuck if that didn’t feel good.

Dropping from his hands to his elbows with a groan, Merlin fisted the blankets as Arthur bottomed out, breathing heavily with the effort of control. As Arthur pressed his mouth against the top of Merlin’s spine, he let out a growl and pulled his hips back only to slam them forward. 

Merlin fully expected a frenzied pace to follow, and was surprised when Arthur stayed buried for a moment and tried to force himself deeper. When that didn’t work, he let out a groan and slowly pulled out halfway before rutting back in.

Merlin’s eyes rolled back as each frustrated thrust from Arthur drove him further into ecstasy, until Arthur was simply grinding himself into Merlin, a steady mantra of “now now now” falling from his lips.

The thought of wondering what that could have meant was chased from Merlin’s mind as he noticed Arthur’s cock distinctly swelling within him. It was with a mighty twitch that he learned just what the gift of a dragon’s seed was as Arthur came, forcing Merlin into an orgasm so powerful, he was left unsure if his cry was in pleasure or pain.

Merlin’s body filled with a magic he had never known before, throbbing through him as it explored its new container and learned of its limits. Knowledge no man had ever known filed itself away in his head, and his heart nearly burst with emotions he could never even hope to identify.

The feeling seemed to last for an eternity, and when Merlin finally came to, Arthur was lying next to him, panting heavily as he stared at the canopied ceiling.

“That…” Arthur waved a hand. “I can see why humans insist on doing that so often.”

“We…are never doing that again,” was Merlin’s stout response.

* * *

**39.**

 

 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana  
**Warnings:** Incest, knifeplay, minor character death

_Surely, if the gods wed a sister to bother there could be no wrong in their love either, Arthur had insisted, and Morgana had thrown her head back and laughed in scandalised delight._

Morgana’s face is covered by a mask of black and gold with dark red feathers fanning out like a scandalous hair, and yet he recognises her the moment he lays his eyes on her. He knows the lovely curve of her breasts and the sway of her hips, unchanged though he hasn’t seen her in a year, not since Uther found out about them and sent her away. 

They meet at the edge of the dance floor and he draws her into a scandalous dance where each of their touches lingers too long, and their bodies are always closer than appropriate, yet not as close as they yearn. He catches whiffs of her sweet perfume, leaving him mad with the desire to bury his nose against her skin to find her real scent.

When the music fades to signify the end of the dance, Arthur draws her close. “Come home with me,” he whispers, and she nods, eyes shining behind the dark holes of her mask. 

***

Morgana’s hand flutters over the smooth red velvet covers of Arthur’s bed. They have removed their masks but they haven’t kissed, not yet, and Arthur’s lips itch with the wait. He takes a step towards her, but she stops him with a reproachful look and lifts her leg to the bed, slowly gliding her dress up. Every inch of skin revealed makes Arthur’s blood burn brighter, but what almost stops his breathing is the leg strap, holding two small knives. 

Smirking, Morgana hands him one of them. 

“Why don’t you help me out of these clothes and I’ll do the same for you?” 

_Gods._ She twirls the other knife around in her fingers, the blade flashing when it catches the dim light coming from the window. 

His hand trembles when he lifts the knife to rest against the skin just above the neckline of the dress. Morgana’s breath hitches at the contact – he both hears it and sees the movement of her skin under the blade. 

He focuses, steadies his hand, and ever so carefully starts to cut the fabric down. It’s easy and it would be even easier to press ever so slightly more, to cut the pale skin underneath and paint her with red pearls. 

She shrugs the dress over her shoulders and lets it pool to the ground behind her feet. Her breasts are still covered with flimsy lace, but she wears no underpants, the wild dark hair between her legs begging for him to bury his fingers or face in it. His already straining cock weeps against the fabric of his trousers at the thought. 

He takes her wrist, and she lets out a throaty chuckle as he drags her to bed after him, but when he reaches for a kiss she lifts her knife challengingly and he stills. 

She sits on top of him, cunt wet against his trousers, and with small, precise cuts she destroys the ridiculously expensive fabric of his clothes. He is almost trembling with need yet also high with the control he is extruding on his body, forcing it to complete stillness despite how much he wants. 

“Look at you,” she purrs, resting the tip of the knife against his skin without drawing blood. “So beautiful and good for me.” 

“Please.” He doesn’t say it, only forms the words with his lips, and she swallows them away with a quick kiss. But she places her knife away, peels his fingers open from the hilt of the other one – and as soon as they’re gone she rips their remaining clothes away and turns him around. 

Her finger traces down his cleft. 

“Have you let anyone else touch you here?” she asks, her breath falling on his left buttock and making him shiver. 

He shakes his head against the pillows – she rewards him with her mouth, licking and sucking, then finally pushing in and licking there until he comes, sobbing and trying to both push against her tongue and rub his cock against the sheets. 

She rides herself to orgasm on his face, filling his senses with her smell and taste, collapsing next to him with a beautiful, choked breath. 

_Later one of the knives finds its way into the chest of sleeping Uther Pendragon. The murderer is never found._

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
>  
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**40.**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause/Arthur  
**Warnings:** Incest

Some family bonding time

[](http://imgur.com/QHDUqxM)

* * *

**41.**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Merlin  
**Warnings:** none

[](http://imgur.com/HKzdDlA)

* * *

**42.**

Pairing(s): Meriln/Arthur  
Warnings: Prostitution 

[](http://imgur.com/vFENfuY)

* * *

**43.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
**Warnings:** None!

"Camelot treats with the Druids out of _necessity only_ ," Uther had said to Arthur sternly. "I forbid you from associating with them otherwise."

[](http://imgur.com/0iBcZt6)

* * *

**44.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** none

Sneaking into the Restricted Section in the Hogwarts library.... tsk tsk tsk.

[](http://imgur.com/5G2fTUK)

* * *

**45.**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Merlin/Gwaine, Merlin/Percival  
**Warnings:** Incest, underage and iterspecies? Teacher/student :P

[click to see bigger/full version!](http://i.imgur.com/AoiUpsD.jpg)

[](http://imgur.com/QLDlbjb)

* * *

**46.**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, background Morgana/Gwen  
**Warnings:**

You can't just _forbid_ Arthur things - especially when he asks (nicely!!) about borrowing them first. Anyway, it's Morgana's own fault for having the prettiest bed in the castle and not sharing.

[](http://imgur.com/98pK0Fo)

* * *

**47.**

**Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Warnings:** Underage, Daddy!kink, teacher/student

There is only one thing Merlin loves more than sneaking over to his teacher's house after dark, and that's being called his Baby while being stuffed full of Daddy's fat cock.

[](http://imgur.com/oEEcKIn)

* * *

**48.**

Pairing(s): Merthurrr  
Warnings: Peeping warlock alert! ;)

Merlin overheard the knights teasing Arthur about his forbidden fruit and soon found out that the crown prince was restricted from spilling his royal seed before marriage... Uther held the single key to the device, but Merlin couldn't stop fantasizing about the fact that he possessed other means to offer Arthur release...

[](http://imgur.com/tRlqNWa)

* * *


	5. Group A (clean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**1.**

Morgause fucks up the first time they meet. She tries to play Morgana: whispers

p

    o

        i

            s

                o

                      n

                                                                                                                       in her ear; laces it with just enough sweetness. Or so she thinks.

  


But Morgana’s blood has been poisoned a long time ago, by 

the monarchy, 

tradition, 

(her father,) 

and she does not fall for Morgause’s trick.

  
  


*

Morgana is **three** years older than Arthur. She beats him at fencing as easily as she beats her fists into the punching bag at the gym to the angry beat of her heart (thud, thud, _thud_ ) , and she’s a lady besides, elegant, polite, demure (OK, perhaps not demure), smart, a great conversationalist.

  
  


She is _something_ , everyone agrees.

  
  


But that something is not a ruler, not a monarch, because, Morgana,

                      (listen)

                                             (listen)

                                                                    you’re a woman.

                      (Don’t be ridiculous.)

*

She doesn’t fall for Morgause’s trick, but Morgause has a tattoo on the inside of her arm.

It looks like a snake and tastes a lot like _want_ , curling salty and thirsty at the back of Morgana’s tongue. 

It goes up, _up_ , **up** to her armpit, damp and delicious and it tastes a lot like want and like

Morgana, what on earth do you think you are doing, besmirching the Pendragon name – 

and she smiles against Morgause’s soft breasts and hard stomach and the inside of her thighs (especially the inside of her thighs), and makes Morgause – older, so much more experienced – come with nothing but her tongue.

She doesn’t let Morgause touch her, but shoves a hand between her own legs, humps down on it, with her face sticky and wet and and her mouth all sore, still buried between Morgause’s thighs, still buried in her heavy, heady scent. 

When she comes, it tastes sweet, so very sweet, like revenge. 

  
  


*

Uther doesn’t disappoint (a refreshing change), the anger boiling out of him (the shame). 

**No! Daughter! Of mine! Yadda yadda yadda**

Somehow, Morgana doubts it’s the fact that they’re cousins that bothers him.

Arthur tries to help; tries to calm his father; drags Morgana away and says, face full of concern, “Morgana, what do you think you’re doing?” 

Morgana hates him.

She taught him how to ride a horse, fought armies of tin knights with him, in their pyjamas in the middle of the night, laughed at his bruises and kissed them better, too. 

He doesn’t understand why she wants to be queen, so much work, so much responsibility, Morgana, enjoy your freedom.

Well, she _is_. She spits it in his face.

  
  


*

  
  


Morgause believes in magic, and Morgana tries not to laugh as she chants and crushes something disgusting to curse the poor soul who keeps stealing her parking spot. 

It’s hard, living in the modern age. Or so Morgause tells her.

Morgana thinks she might be a bit mad (no wonder they’re cousins). 

She feels exhilarated as she pushes Morgause down on the bed; as Morgause, strong, capable, slightly mad Morgause, lets her. She rides Morgause’s thigh and then teases, teases, teases her, until she’s quite breathless and annoyed, until all Morgana needs to do is press her hand to Morgause’s cunt, and she rides up in waves, coming, all flushed and lovely, and Morgana kisses her.

  
  


*

Morgause likes it when she bites, so she does; sinks in her teeth, leaves her mark – crooked, always crooked.

Morgause loves it.

  
  


*

Morgana gets a tattoo, on her arm, for everyone to see. It’s a fox. Uther is appalled; Arthur sighs. Arthur’s assistant looks away (there is a dragon crawling over his shoulder; Morgana saw it once, by accident. Merlin never mentions it).  
  


*

The poison is right there

(in her veins)

in the vial Morgause gave her and it goes easily,

                                                                                         drip                                                                                                                                drip                                                                                                                                                                    drip 

into Arthur’s glass. 

She gives it to him; 

her hand shakes

and it falls to its untimely death, 

the glass and her soul, 

in shatters on the floor.  
  


*

Morgause holds her. She used to smell like danger; now, she smells like home. 

“Politics,” she says, close to Morgana’s ear, like it’s a dirty word. Not the good kind.

Morgana laughs, can’t help it. “I could make it work.

**DOWN WITH THE MONARCHY**

That sort of thing.”

Morgana is _something_ , after all.

”I could just curse their souls.” 

”You do that.” 

“You are mad.” 

”I am,” Morgana says, and 

s

i

n

k

s

down,  
into madness  
into Morgause’s embrace  
(into the vee of her thighs)  
into something like belonging.

* * *

**2.**

It had been a hot day for late March, but night was falling now, and so was the temperature. Jogging, Arthur crossed the road and entered the forest.

Once his anger at having missed the last bus faded, he noticed the silence: no birds, no wind in the trees, no nothing. Just the thump-thump of his footfall. 

There was a weird smell in the air, hot and charged despite the chill. 

He ran faster, tried not to think of the rumours that were all over school. Soon he'd see the spire of St Michael's, and then he'd be almost home.

He stumbled and fell in the darkness. The scent got stronger: a coppery hint of nosebleed that had him finger his upper lip for wetness. There was none, and his fumbling was directed towards the ground, trying to find his gym bag.

His hand connected with a shoe. There was a man standing in front of him.

Arthur brushed his knees and stood, stared into blue eyes.

His blood rushed south, almost flooring him in the process. He tugged at his hoodie to hide the bulge in his track shorts. 

"Oh, you scared me. There's something in these woods and–"

"Something?" The man's voice was rough, like he hadn't spoken in a while, or just woken up.

"It freaked out a group of kids camping here a few weeks ago. But I missed my bus after practice, and I had to–"

The man's hand touched Arthur's cheek. His thumb trailed a drop of sweat along Arthur's temple, then touched Arthur's mouth. Arthur licked at it, tasted himself and something else: soil. 

He let the man cup his face and sniff him before bringing their mouths together.

He was all lean muscle and wiry limbs; there was nothing soft on him. Even his skin, where Arthur could feel it, was dusted with coarse hair. His beard rasped Arthur's face. 

He was impatient. He tore at Arthur's shorts, leaving him half-naked on all fours.

"You want it?" A thumb – already prodding, opening up – belied the question.

The man was no girl, and they weren't wed, but Arthur said _yes_.

He was held open, and there was a cold nose there, then a tongue that drew a stripe along his crack. Too much, too wet, too like a dog. Arthur cried out, and arched his back. He'd never dared dream he'd have this. 

By the time the tongue was replaced by something else, and the question was repeated, Arthur bleated out another _yes_.

He knew there were other words, like _condom_ , and _lube_ , but he couldn't care less. He would lose his virginity in the woods, sodomised by a stranger, and he wanted it.

Something entered him: too large, too fast. There was too much of it, and too little of him to contain it. But still he wanted it. When asked again, he said _yes_.

The man began to thrust, and Arthur braced himself and took it. 

He was going to get his dirty place pumped full of a man's spunk. The thought of it brought him off. His orgasm roared through him like a train through a tunnel. 

He ended up flat on the ground, with the man draped over his back.

After a while, he realised the man hadn't pulled out, but was prying himself further in. There was a bulge as big as a fist at the base of his penis that wanted in. It hurt, it was much too much. It shouldn't fit, but it did. The man soothed Arthur as the thing entered, as it grew even bigger, locking into place. 

Thoughts flashed through Arthur's brain, images of dogs stuck to each other.

"Say my name." 

Arthur whined in reply. He didn't know. 

"Say my name!"

Arthur sobbed. "I don't know!"

The man, still nameless, climaxed. Wave after wave, spurt after spurt, until Arthur's belly was taut and round against the forest floor.

 _Say my name_ : a voice inside Arthur's head; a hand cupped at his distended stomach.

They lay together until they came unstuck, and the man's penis dislodged with a gush of fluid.

The man vanished, and Arthur hobbled back home, wet. 

He hurried to the bathroom, past the room where his father was working on Sunday's sermon. He must not see the stain, the streaks of a man's fluids along Arthur's thighs.

Arthur woke up the next morning still leaking. 

His gym bag was outside his window, hanging from a branch.

* * *

**3.**

"That's a good girl," Mithian says, pulling her panties back on and wiping the drool and come off Elena's mouth with a handkerchief. "But from now on you're going to be even better for me. Stand up, that's it, and spread your legs a little. I've brought you a present."

It's not exactly what Elena was hoping for. First there's a metal belt that Mithian fastens around Elena's waist, then a second piece of metal that comes down her front and covers her pussy. She uses two chains to pull the shield back and attach it to the back of the belt, securing the connections with three tiny padlocks. 

They all use the same key as Elena's collar.

"Try walking around. Go look at yourself." 

Elena steps gingerly toward the mirror. As always, she stands up straighter, the way Mithian likes, when she sees her herself. She looks a little more sleek, a little less human than before.

"It doesn't pinch too much, does it?"

"I don't think so. It rubs a little against my labia, and it's... tight." 

"I know. I took your measurements and had it custom made, so you won't be able to get your greedy little fingers in."

"Mistress," says Elena, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yes, pet?"

"I haven't come yet."

Mithian narrows her eyes at Elena's reflection in the mirror. "Do you mean to tell me you haven't touched yourself all day?"

Elena's face and her chest and her constricted pussy all flush at once. "I... only once or twice."

Mithian turns Elena to face her. "I'm not angry at you, dear, it's only the way you were raised. But you admit it yourself, you have no self-control. Well, from now on you won't be _able_ to disobey me. And won't that be better for both of us?"

The last time Mithian caught Elena masturbating without permission she spanked her ass red and then fucked her face until Elena's jaw and tongue wouldn't move anymore. In Elena's opinion _that_ had been quite good enough for both of them. But these aren't her decisions to make. 

"Yes, Mistress," she says. "Thank you." 

So a new routine begins. Every morning, as before, Mithian bathes her, but the new rule is that Elena has to keep both hands on the shower rod while she's being touched. That's the only time the belt comes off.

Every evening, as before, Mithian tells Elena how to get her off, with her hands or her mouth, or sometimes that gag with a dildo on the front.

The days and nights get longer, and sometimes Elena cries herself to sleep, or lies awake writhing, imagining Mithian's hands inside her. 

She asks to be tied up more often – it's nice not to have to think about what to do with her hands – but she learns to stop asking to be allowed to come. Mithian will decide. 

She says "I love you" more. And she learns to appreciate a gentle kiss, a kind word, having her belly tickled, or her ass slapped or penetrated, as its own kind of reward and release.

And then there's the night, twenty-three nights after she gave her the present (no, Elena hasn't lost count) that Mithian chains her wrists to the headboard and takes off the belt. Elena's cunt throbs in the open air and her mind reels while Mithian sits on her face. But she goes to work at pleasuring her mistress, and as time passes she forgets again about herself, about what her new freedom might mean. After Mithian's second orgasm she kisses Elena's mouth, coos at her as she licks the mess away. She moves down to sit over Elena's hips while she bites and sucks at her breasts.

"I love you," Elena moans.

"I know," Mithian answers.

She kneels between Elena's legs, pushes up her knees and pushes her tongue inside her. Elena screams and breaks at once, but Mithian doesn't let up, goes on sucking and fucking and taking Elena apart in wave after painful wave. In three years together it's never hurt this good.

"Do you understand now?" she says, while Elena trembles and weeps. "Being mine means you can't do this for yourself. Not ever again."

They sleep naked, but for Elena's collar and a pair of cuffs at her wrists. 

"What do you think, darling?" Mithian says after her morning bath. "Shall I put it on you again?" 

"Whatever you think is best for me, Mistress."

Mithian smiles with genuine pride. "Good girl."

* * *

**4.**

Arthur's a good lad, they say at school. A big lad, a football hero, top of the class, the golden boy who rules the roost. A lad's lad, he is.

So when his spine shivers as he slides the silk up thick footie-playing thighs, Arthur can only grin conspiratorially at himself in the mirror, pursing his lips together to smooth on thick red there and then kohl around his eyes.

Once a month he escapes, lets his hair grow out just to the edge of too much, and goes to London for the night, tight silk and stockings falling softly around his chest and thighs. If only they could all see him now.

Come Monday his hair will be trimmed and neat again, front row in every class, as polished as everyone always expects him to be.

*

He'd recognise the shape of Mr Emrys' hips, the width of his shoulders anywhere, even here in the flashing light of the club and the skinny jeans and tank that have never made it within spitting distance of school grounds. He tongues the straw in his mouth as admires the curve of Mr Emrys' spine from across the bar, eyes eagerly taking in all the skin and sinew on display like never before.

And when a low voice breathes into the back of his neck, "Hello, beautiful, what's your name? I'm Merlin," Arthur hums and spreads his legs a little wider at the realisation that his art teacher _doesn't recognise him_.

Of course when he drops to his knees on the bathroom floor, inhaling all the come and scent like a good little boy, and Merlin's hands push into his hair, draw it back from his face, he can see the exact moment Merlin's eyes widen with recognition right before he comes.

*

Neither of them mention it. The _never_ mention it, or the casual way Arthur says he comes the first Saturday of every month, but never tells him his name.

Or the fact that Merlin is always there, waiting, just like Arthur.

 _Plausible deniability_ , Arthur likes to think.

*

One week Arthur wears a pretty little floral dress; he likes the way it clings to his hips and arse, the way every man stares at him as he sways by on kitten heels. Merlin takes one wide-eyed look at him and stutters, nostrils flaring, before pushing him straight into a bathroom and locking the door to the whole damn thing.

"God, so _fucking beautiful_. Look at you, Christ," he murmurs into Arthur's ear, eyes locked in the mirror in front of them.

And Arthur doesn't want to stop this, wants to push and push just to see how far it can go, wants them to fucking wreck each other, so he braces himself against the sink and curves his arse out, skirt bunched at the base of his spine, and moans, "C'mon, want you to fuck me, just like this, c'mon, _Merlin_ ," and Merlin snaps.

Lube smears everywhere just like his lipstick across Merlin's face and when Merlin fills him up, balls all snug up against Arthur's arse, Arthur whines and shudders through every snap of Merlin's hips into his own. It's the sight though, of Merlin's hand wrapped around his prick in the mirror, dress a mess, and Merlin's feral eyes that has him coming and coming in thick white streaks all over the silk on his belly. And when Merlin shocks deep, coming with Arthur's name on his lips, and lube and come slip down Arthur's thighs, Arthur has never felt more alive than at that moment, eyes still locked in the mirror.

*

They never talk about _it_ , but they talk about everything else, late into the night for hours on end, in their own little world where nothing else matters but the fact that Arthur is a boy who likes the feel of silk and lean, angular men who touch him like he needs. Who like him exactly the way he is, not the way everyone expects him to be.

"This summer, I'd like to take you on a date sometime," Arthur says with his first genuine smile in a long, long time.

Merlin grins. "I'd like that."

* * *

**5.**

The boy was dirty and skinny—practically skin and bones in a bundle of rags lying beside the road. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter a beggar asking for a coin or a piece of bread, but something made Arthur dismount to examine the boy closely.

He was a pathetic specimen, with tangled black hair and cheekbones so prominent he resembled a dryad more than a human. But his eyes were a vivid blue, and his face was oddly beautiful, especially when the boy looked up and his eyes caught the light of the sun, gleaming gold for a moment.

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked. When no reply came he scooped up the boy and mounted his horse. “I’ll take care of you, sweetling,” he whispered in the boy’s ear, holding him tight.

Back at the castle Arthur took the boy to his chamber, laid him on his bed, and ordered a hot bath.

“What’s your name little elf?”

“Merlin.”

Arthur stroked Merlin’s hair, pushing it out of the boy’s eyes.

When the bath was ready he undressed him. Merlin’s slim body was pale, as if he’d never been out in the sun. He couldn’t be more than fourteen winters. It was hard to tell with peasant boys, thin as they were.

But he was beautiful and Arthur couldn’t stop stroking him.

Arthur eased Merlin into the hot water and bathed him, passing the washcloth down his arms and thighs and between Merlin’s legs, where his cock lay pale and limp, still boyishly small.

He kissed the inside of Merlin’s arm, then lifted it and licked Merlin’s armpit, revelling in the scent there. He wanted to rub the smell on him, to bathe in it, to be immersed in it. The boy whimpered when Arthur’s teeth scraped his skin.

He placed Merlin, now clean, back on the bed to feed him grapes and water. Then he climbed on the bed and licked the grape juice from Merlin’s lips.

He grabbed Merlin’s hips, rolled him over, and pressed him down into the sheets. He wanted to consume this boy. He stroked Merlin’s back, enjoying the sight of his large, tanned hands on Merlin’s milky skin. He traced the protruding bones of Merlin’s spine with his tongue, then spread Merlin’s ass cheeks and inhaled there, where he smelled the most delicious. He licked once, then again, lightheaded from the boy’s moans and whimpers. He pushed his tongue inside of Merlin’s small hole, wetting it with warm, slick spit, kissing it and then tonguing at it again. Merlin shivered and writhed, his skin getting warmer, his hips moving to the rhythm of Arthur’s licks. Oh, how Arthur longed to align his hard, aching cock with this little sweet hole and push and push. But no, this would be wrong, so Arthur pushed his tongue inside Merlin’s hole and sneaked his hand inside his own breeches to tug on his cock.

The boy was almost delirious with pleasure, sweet sobs escaping his mouth, and then his whole body tensed and he was coming underneath Arthur’s mouth, the scent of his arousal intoxicating, making Arthur paint his own breeches with seed.

Arthur eased Merlin on his back and took in the sight of the boy’s flushed body. Merlin’s come was smeared all over his belly, and Arthur bent down to lick it off, laving at the warm skin, swallowing hungrily.

He lay next to Merlin, hugging him tight and watching the boy’s face—relaxed now and ethereal, so beautiful.

“See, little elf? You’re safe.” Arthur kept stroking Merlin’s hair. He was so young and innocent, and Arthur felt a pang of embarrassment at what he’d just done, at what he wanted to do still. But the boy was so gorgeous.

It was getting dark in the chamber and Arthur made a move to light the candles, but Merlin curled his slender fingers around his wrist, grip surprisingly firm. His eyes lit gold and as he whispered the spell, and the candles in the chamber sparked to life.

“You’re a sorcerer, then,” Arthur said. “Do you know that magic is forbidden in Camelot?”

The boy nodded and Arthur hugged him even closer. He’d keep this one safe.

“Have you bewitched me?” he asked, kissing the tip of Merlin’s nose.

Merlin was watching him closely, his wide blue eyes innocent in the candlelight. “Would you feel better if I said I have?”

Arthur mulled this over for a while. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, I would.”

Merlin smiled. “Then I did.”

* * *

**6.**

The heat in the air was suffocating; the Egyptian summer oppressive against Arthur's english sensibilities. He was as red as a lobster and had sand in very uncomfortable places, so when the workers he hired to help him find the lost tomb of Merlinotep refused to go any further, he figured that’s just how his luck was going.

“We will not enter the tomb, _mudir_ ,” the spokesman for his band of motley workers stated. A short swarthy man, he became spokesman purely by way of his superior English skills. In contrast Arthur’s Arabic was beyond rubbish.

“I know that we agreed upon, but the treasure of Merlinotep is so close,” Arthur said. “We could be very rich men if you helped me look.”

The worker shook his head and spoke to Arthur earnestly.

“This place is cursed _mudir_. You should leave now with the rest of us.”

Arthur squared his jaw mulishly.

“I don’t believe in magic and curses and silly things like that,” he stated dismissively.

“What I do believe, is that my discoveries here will ensure my name lives on throughout history,” Arthur turned his back to the man who helped him reach his goal, “but if your courage cannot carry you then I suppose my name will live on alone.”

Arthur took a torch from a nervous worker who was watching the heated exchange and lit it with dying embers of the camp fire.

As he marched determinedly towards the entrance of the forbidden tomb he heard the men whisper blessings to Allah; for his safe return or guidance for his doomed soul he was unsure.

He really needed to brush up on his arabic.

As he approached, the darkness of the tomb overshadowed him. A statue of Anubis, worn by the passing generations, stood guard against strangers; an imposing figure against the backdrop of the tomb.

Arthur wandered for hours in the tunnels of the tomb, the flickering of the torch light against the walls an ominous friend against the darkness.

So It came as a shock when a figure suddenly appeared in ancient royal garb, eyes glowing a deep magical gold.

It was nearly enough to make him question his beliefs about magic.

Nearly.

“Arturamon,” The man said softly, his unnerving golden eyes fading into a deep ocean blue.

A gorgeous smile appeared upon his face and Arthur stood poleaxed as the man approached him. The man spoke in a deep guttural language that Arthur was almost certain was not Arabic, but nonetheless reminded him of ancient times and ancient creatures. 

Arthur shook his head to convey his confusion and the man frowned.

“Arturamon?” he questioned raising his hand to cup Arthur’s face.

The stranger caressed his features gently rubbing his thumb against Arthur’s trembling lip before kissing him deeply. Arthur was able to do naught but let the man plunder his mouth a strange wave of nostalgia of overwhelming him.

Eventually the kiss broke and the man with blue eyes nodded to himself before patting Arthur’s chest and repeating “Arturamon” as if in confirmation.

Arthur stepped away from the stranger, the repetition of the one strange word enough to break whatever spell had temporarily held him hostage.

“You know you keep repeating that word but I don't know what it means,” Arthur said drily as the man looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“My name is Arthur. ARRRTHUR,” he dragged out condescendingly as if speaking to a small child.

The stranger snorted and muttered something under his breath. Arthur didn’t have to speak the language to know it was an insult.

The stranger took one of Arthur’s hands and patted his own chest with the other. “Merlinotep,” he stated leading Arthur back into a chamber with an open sacrphogi.

“No, no, no,” Arthur disagreed, “Merlinotep is dead. He died a long time ago.”

“How did you even get in here anyway?” he asked deeply in denial.

Merlinotep rolled his eyes before pushing Arthur down by his shoulders until he was seated on the ground leaning against the empty sarcophagus.

He placed himself firmly in Arthur’s lap and Arthur “oofed” at the sudden, but pleasant, extra weight.

Merlinotep kissed him and Arthur became distracted by the soft lips against his own and the undulating hips rocking him into hardness.

“You know this is really not what I expected to find when I entered the forbidden tomb of an egyptian pharaoh.”

Merlinotep laughed against his lips before reaching into Arthur’s pants and stroking him to completion. Arthur orgasimed to Merlinoteps smirking face and the memories of a life lived long ago.

* * *

**7.**

“A criminal record wouldn’t look too good when you’re applying for scholarships, would it?” Arthur asked, toying with Merlin’s nipples, pinching and rolling the stiff peaks. “Think about your future job prospects as well,” he whispered, hands now on the soft dip of Merlin’s waist.

“I wasn’t even speeding,” Merlin whimpered, handcuffs rattling behind his back as he squirmed. 

“That’s not what the police report will say. Who do you think they’ll believe?” Arthur smirked, hands lowering to cup that lovely bottom, thumb rubbing the cleft through the denim. “An officer of the law or a speeding hooligan who resisted arrest?” 

“Please don’t—” Merlin started, sounding so very small. “Can’t you just let me off with a warning?” 

He sounded so hopeful near the end that something dark and wrong within Arthur purred in pleasure. “You think I’d just let this slide?” He pretended to ponder for a moment, kneading the soft globes of Merlin’s bum. The pretense of frisking him out the window. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you want with me?” Merlin growled, as if he didn’t already know. 

Arthur turned Merlin around, pushed him up against the police car and placed the baton under Merlin’s neck in one, fluid movement. “I want you to beg.” Arthur trailed the baton from Merlin’s chin, down to his neck and tapped it gently against Merlin’s sternum. “On your knees,” he ordered, putting the baton away. 

Merlin _glared_ at him, eyes wet, torn between anger and complete helplessness. It made Arthur hot, got him all bothered under his collar. He knew then that Merlin wasn’t going to say no, wasn’t even going to fight back though the heat in his eyes showed that he desperately wanted to.

Tugging Merlin onto his knees, Arthur undid his trousers, cock springing lewdly from the folds of fabric. It tapped against Merlin’s cheek, making him gasp.

“Come on,” Arthur urged. “Get it nice and wet.” He was kind enough to even help out, dragging the head of his cock along those blow-job lips, pressing into that delectable dimple upon Merlin’s bottom lip. 

_“Fuck,”_ Arthur groaned when he finally thrusts into that whorish mouth. “S-suck it,” he said with a hitch of his hips, desperate for more of that wet, velvet heat.

Unable to do anything but take it, Merlin just keened, wet gurgling noises at the back of his throat. Hands braced against Merlin’s head, Arthur fucked deep into that mouth, cockhead touching the back of Merlin’s throat, pulling out often enough to give Merlin space to breathe but fucking him all the more harder for it.

It took all the self control that Arthur had to pull away just before coming. He gave Merlin a moment to cough and splutter, wiping the drool and precome that dribbled down his chin with the back of his hand. 

“Come on,” Arthur urged, hauling Merlin up by the collar of his shirt to practically throw him over the hood of the car. 

“Condom,” Merlin begged, not even struggling when Arthur kicked his legs apart and undid his jeans. _“Please.”_

“Please, _sir,”_ Arthur corrected, pulling out his wallet to retrieve lube and a condom.

There was a moment of silence, of Merlin’s weak attempt of defiance before Arthur placed the head of his bare cock against Merlin’s hole, pressed in threateningly. 

“Please, Sir. Please. Sir,” Merlin babbled, almost frantic. 

It made Arthur laugh, but he was gracious enough to do as requested. He lined up his slick, condom clad cock and pushed. 

Merlin _squealed_ , let out this delicious wail as Arthur bottomed out. 

Arthur didn’t care about much after that, just pounded into that sweet hole. He loved it, every moment of it. Forcing those stuttered _“uh, uh, uh”_ noises out of Merlin at every thrust. The occasional yelp if he fucked with _just_ right amount of force. That tight, vice-like grip of hot flesh milking his cock. 

He was almost sad when he came. Almost. 

“Do you want me to finish you off?,” Arthur asked mockingly, feeling very satisfied with himself as discarded the tied up condom and undid the handcuffs. 

Merlin said nothing. Did nothing. It was only when Arthur reached for him again that he jerked away.

“Stay away!” he yelled, face streaked with tears as he tugged his pants up. “You got what you wanted.”

He got so much more than that, Arthur thought, filing Merlin’s information away at the back of his mind for a later date. _Merlin Emrys._

* * *

**8.**

Merlin’s only been in Birmingham for three and a half hours before he gets caught.

Arthur shoves him through the pub doors and says, “On your knees.” 

“Over my dead body I’ll get on my knees for the likes of you.”

Arthur snorts and kicks him in the back of knees, forcing him to the ground. “Don’t give me any ideas,” he mutters and walks towards the bar top.

Merlin licks the inside of his cheek, where it’d been sliced open after their fight by the docks. In the dim lighting of the empty pub, Merlin watches Arthur lift his peaked tweed cap to run a hand through his hair – nothing about him is disheveled.

“He’s rather waif, for a spy. Wouldn’t you say, dear brother?” Merlin startles at the voice, and directs his gaze to its source – a young doll, eyes half-hidden beneath her fringe, and a telling red neckerchief wrapped around her neck, stark against the black of her dress.

Merlin recognizes her immediately, because he’s never feared a woman on sight before, but his blood runs cold when she sits at the table closest to him, crossing her legs and eyeing him appraisingly. 

“I’m not a bloody spy,” Merlin spits. He’s heard all sorts of rumors about the Pendragon mobsters – about the blood on their hands and merciless policies. He’d deemed them spurious; but right now – handcuffed and on his knees in front of the pair of them – he gets it.

“What then?” Arthur asks, and pulls his gun from the inside of his coat. He stalks towards Merlin and puts the barrel to his forehead. “IRA?”

“No!” He swallows. “I told you -- wrong place, wrong time.” Merlin’s always been a good liar, and yet he can’t seem to help the tremor in his voice.

Arthur hums and toggles the safety catch. 

“Arthur,” Morgana says, like a warning – or a plea, Merlin’s not quite sure – and moves a foot to rub over Arthur’s calf. 

Arthur’s gaze is heady when he looks down at her, and Merlin’s own cock stirs in his trousers. He stares between the two of them. 

Morgana meets his eye, her own dancing with either mockery or mirth. “Church lad, are you?” 

“No,” he breathes, and shifts on his knees.

“No?” Arthur asks, and drags the revolver over Merlin’s nose, down to his lips. “Open up, then.”

Merlin stares up at Arthur.

“C’mon now,” he says, and crouches down. He puts his finger on the trigger. “Be a good boy for us.”

Merlin opens his mouth and Arthur pushes the barrel between his lips, slow and easy.

“Suck.”

Merlin whimpers around the barrel of the gun, feels it heavy and solid against the flat of his tongue. He shuts his eyes and sucks. 

There’s the sound of chair scraping against wood, and then Morgana’s flush against his back, her hands settled on his waist in a tight grip. “Isn’t this a sight, Arthur?” she purrs. 

And then, right into the shell of Merlin’s ear, she asks, “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a mouth made for sucking cock?” just as she presses the heel of her hand against his crotch.

Merlin’s eyes fly open and he sputters. 

The gun slips from his mouth and Arthur stands, abandoning the revolver in favor of working the buckles on his belt.

“I-I can’t,” Merlin stutters, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where Arthur’s freeing his cock, flushed red and pulsing.

“Don’t be difficult,” Arthur says, and drags the head across Merlin’s mouth; precome smearing against the red of his lips. Merlin whimpers.

“Shh, don’t you worry baby, nobody here’ll tell the good Lord above how you’ve spent your night,” Morgana whispers, and then digs the hand that isn’t jerking him off into his matted hair. She uses the hold to push him onto Arthur’s cock.

Arthur’s hot and heavy in his mouth, and Merlin swallows him down, unable to determine where his desire to please them stems from.

When Arthur comes, it’s in Merlin’s mouth and all over his face – filthy and artless.

Then they’re both gone, and Merlin watches helplessly as they abandon him. Arthur spreads Morgana out on the wooden table, fucks her clit with his mouth, her sharp heels digging into his back.

He comes from the sight alone, and Arthur’s puffed-up when he drags Merlin to his feet by his lapels and unlocks the handcuffs.

“If I ever see you on Pendragon territory again, it’ll be your own cock I shove down your throat.”

* * *

**9.**

The day is hot as fuck. Arthur is nursing a beer in the shade, watching from behind mirrored sunglasses while his little brother splashes around in the pool. Merlin has grown tall in the past year, but he's still lean as a whip, and the waistband of his swimming-trunks clings precariously to his hipbones. 

Arthur really should stop looking. 

Merlin is only his half-brother, but they've always been close. Then Arthur went to study abroad, and everything changed. Closing his eyes, Arthur tries to picture his cute baby brother who followed him around like a puppy, but all he can see are sharp cheekbones, long limbs and dusky nipples...

He jerks up when a heavy weight lands on top of him and he's splattered with water as Merlin shakes himself like a dog. He's laughing, mouth wide open and eyes glittering with mirth and something else - a dare, maybe, but Arthur can't quite tell. 

''Get off me!'' he grunts, pushing at Merlin half-heartedly.

Merlin just grins and pins him down, his hands on Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur has the sudden, insane urge to lick the stray drops of pool water from Merlin's chest, to slide his hands into those wet trunks and pull them down over the swell of his brother's arse, touch the water-cool skin.

Arthur's cock stirs and he excuses himself, hastily fleeing inside.

\---

That night, Arthur lies awake in his old room. It's still hot, but the thunder in the distance already heralds the approaching storm. Under the thin sheet, Arthur's cock lies full and heavy against his stomach, but he won't touch himself. Not when the only thing he can think of is to strip his little brother naked and stretch him out on this bed, to find his cock and suck it to hardness before diving deeper to kiss and lick at his small private hole.

The first drops of rain clatter against the window, and a flash of lightning illuminates the room. Arthur freezes when he sees Merlin standing in the doorway, watching him.

''Can I sleep here?''

As a boy Merlin always came crawling into Arthur's bed when there was a storm and he was scared.

''Don't you think we're too old for that?''

''Please.''

Merlin bites his lip, and suddenly he's Arthur's cute baby brother again.

''If you hog the blankets, I'll kick you out.''

Only when Merlin climbs in and snuggles back against him, does Arthur realise what a truly bad idea this is. He lies there, tense with fear and arousal. Merlin's unruly hair is tickling his nose, and his erection is brushing against his brother's arse. There's nothing between them but two thin layers of cotton.

''You can, you know?"

"W-What--?"

"I've practised. I can get three fingers in.''

Blood rushes in Arthur's ears and down to his cock. He thinks he might faint. Or come in his pants. Both seems just as likely.

''I've been wanting you to do it since forever, but I knew you'd think I was too young.''

''I'm not-- you're my brother!'' Arthur hisses.

''Half-brother!'' Merlin insists. ''And what does it matter?''

 _It matters_ , Arthur wants to snap, but there's a hand inside his boxers, clumsily wrapping around him, and it's the hottest thing Arthur has ever felt. He needs to stop Merlin, but he's paralysed with want and indecision.

Merlin pulls him out and Arthur's cock slides between his brother's cheeks, wet and slippery. Oh god. Merlin has been busy. Has lubed and stretched his hole so that Arthur can fuck him.

Because that's what he wants.

Merlin, that demanding little brat, rocks backwards and Arthur's cock hits the target, stretching that tight pucker the slightest bit. 

Merlin moans. 

''Arthur... come on... just a little. Just the tip. I want you to."

Letting out a strangled sob, Arthur pushes forward, and then he's inside Merlin and, oh, it's so much more than just the tip, because he can't help but sink further into the tight heat of Merlin's arse.

''We can't...'' he mumbles against Merlin's neck. ''We can't.''

Merlin doesn't answer, instead he takes Arthur's hand and guides it between his legs. Merlin's cock is hard and soft like velvet, and Arthur starts stroking it, mesmerized, keeping in rhythm with his own helpless thrusts. 

Arthur comes inside his brother, Merlin's own release sticky on his fingers, exhausted and stunned and close to tears. Merlin turns around.

''Stop freaking out,'' he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against Arthur's lips. ''You know I love you, right?''

Yes, Arthur knows.

* * *

**10.**

“You should work harder,” Arthur said, bringing his hand down on Merlin’s plump little bottom. Merlin’s breath hitched. Arthur rubbed the pink skin for a few seconds before raising his hand again. “How many is that, Merlin?” he asked.

“S-six, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin gasped out, and Arthur felt a rush of arousal go through him at that. Merlin only called him that when they were in class, or when he was feeling particularly kinky.

Merlin hadn’t exactly done all that bad on the test, really, but he was the one who’d come to Arthur, looking innocent, and asked for Arthur’s help. When Arthur had told him to just work harder, he’d batted his eyelashes—honest to god, _batted his eyelashes_ —and asked if Arthur could help him with working harder, too. And the tone of his voice had suggested that he had everything but studying in mind.

And, well, watching Merlin squirm under him as he spanked his arse sore—it wasn’t exactly a bad sight.

He spanked Merlin three more times in rapid succession, and watched the skin of flare up even more.

Arthur had resisted this for a long time. He was Merlin’s teacher, and so much older than him. Merlin was young and thin, with dark messy hair and a messy bedroom. Sometimes he had coffee for breakfast because he was young and forgot to eat or was too late, sometimes Arthur would catch him wearing mismatched socks as he walked into the lecture hall with his friends. He was young and reckless and beautiful. Arthur was the complete opposite of that. And he'd had resisted for so long, until one day Merlin had walked into his office and all but begged Arthur to fuck him, and Arthur had let go and bent Merlin over the desk and just... _taken_ him—like Arthur wasn’t his teacher, like he wasn’t nine years older than Merlin, like this wasn’t wrong in all the ways.

Arthur shook his head to rid himself of that line of thought. There was a time and place for those thoughts. And sitting in his bedroom with Merlin across his lap—waiting for the next time Arthur’s hand comes down on his arse and spanks him—wasn’t it. He could always wallow later on. For now, he decided to focus on Merlin and his perfect little bottom.

He cracked his hand down one more time, harder this time, and Merlin moaned.

“How many, Merlin?” Arthur purred.

“T-ten,” Merlin breathed, voice barely a whisper. Arthur could feel Merlin’s erection pressing against his thigh, and it took everything he had not to push Merlin off of his lap and fuck him right there. He enjoyed teasing Merlin, he enjoyed how desperate he got. He trailed his hand down, and flicked at the flared base of the butt plug Merlin was wearing. Merlin moaned, his whole body shuddered.

“Arthur, come on,” Merlin said when Arthur didn’t do anything else for a few seconds. He sounded desperate. Arthur’s cock hardened even more, if that was even possible.

“What’s the magic word, Merlin?” Arthur asked, flicking at the butt plug again.

“Please, Arthur—Mr. Pendragon, please fuck me,” Merlin tried, squirming and thrusting his arse up.

“Good boy,” Arthur whispered and pulled the plug out without warning and threw it on the bed.

~

Afterwards, when he’d fucked Merlin into the mattress, and Merlin was dozing, wrapped around Arthur like the fucking octopus that he was, and he felt strangely warm all over, Arthur stared at the ceiling and thought , this wasn’t all that wrong after all. He was sure that his doubts would creep back in with the first rays of sunlight, but for now, he thought this was enough.

* * *

**11.**

“Found him,” Mordred's voice comes through the comm-link. 

“Give me a sec,” Arthur says, ripping his sword out of the last attacker's chest. 

He turns around, facing two more thugs just entering the large room. He doesn't move as they take in the scene. Seven men strewn all over the floor, blood pooling around their dead bodies, and not a single scratch on Arthur who just stands there, sword crimson and eyes shining bright white of avenging angel. 

“Come and get me,” Arthur taunts, smirking when they turn tail and run. 

“Knights, status?” he speaks to the comm-line.

“Clear,” comes first in Leon's and then in Gwaine's voice.

“Wait for us at the entrance. There might be two more guards heading your way,” Arthur says, finds Mordred's energy signature, and teleports away.

 

-x-

 

“He's in bad shape,” Mordred says without turning towards Arthur. “In a lot of pain too.”

“Are you sure it's him?” Arthur kneels next to a narrow cot, pressing his hand to the stranger's brow and taking part of his pain, watching tension flee his body.

“Positive. It's Emrys,” Mordred confirms, running his fingers first over the collar around Emrys' neck and then around the bracelets on both his wrists. “That's not possible,” he whispers after a while, frowning. 

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“The collar is meant to inhibit magic, but these,” he touches the bracelets again, “these block incubus' ability to feed.”

Morgana was very adamant about Emrys being special even though her visions were unable to tell her exact details. Still, this is unexpected. Magical incubi go through a difficult adolescence, a stage called Undecided. The two types of abilities war with each other until one wins. From that moment on, they're either a sorcerer or an incubus. But Emrys is too old to be Undecided. 

His hand still on Emrys' brow, Arthur touches his mind. 

_Pain. Fear. Shame. All-encompassing hunger._

“Fuck,” Arthur curses. “He's starving.” 

Emrys startles, curling into a ball and covering his head with his arms. 

“We need to get him out of here,” Arthur says.

 

-x-

 

“Can you get rid of the bindings?” Arthur asks, glancing at the incubus lying on his bed. Mordred sent him to deep sleep, but he still twitches from time to time. 

“I'm not sure it's such a good idea,” Mordred says. 

“They kept him there for almost a month! They used him as their toy and didn't let him feed!” Arthur growls.

“I know exactly what you want to do, Arthur,” Mordred says. “But think about it for a second. He's an incubus and you're half angel. This sort of coupling is forbidden for a reason. It's unpredictable.”

“So you want me to let him suffer?”

“Nobody is saying we should do nothing,” Leon says, “but maybe we should think about it first.”

“There must be a reason why Morgana sent us. Her visions are never just random rescue missions,” Arthur says. He looks at Mordred again. “Can you get rid of those bindings or not?”

 

-x-

When the collar clicks open, Arthur's ready for the spike of pain, taking most of it away. Emrys sags back into his arms, barely conscious.

“Emrys, stay with me,” Arthur says. 

“I'm not...” Emrys mumbles, starts fighting Arthur's hold. “I don't know anything about the prophecy.” His strength doesn't last long. “I won't fight you, just… please...” he begs, lifting his wrists. 

His eyes are wet with tears and Arthur almost chokes on the amount of despair and shame radiating from him.

 

-x-

 

“Shh,” Arthur hushes him, stopping his attempt to turn on his front and present his bum for Arthur's taking. “I won't do that,” he whispers and straddles Emrys' thighs, hastily unzipping his jeans and pulling out his cock. 

Emrys is gorgeous, his pheromones sweet in the air. Arthur closes his eyes, breathes through the sense of wrong, wrong, wrong and works his cock ruthlessly towards release. Emrys' fingers dig into his hips as he's getting close, small gasps escaping both their lips. When he comes, Emrys arches his back and moans, greedily absorbing Arthur's pleasure. Arthur collapses on top of him, filled with a sense of deep satisfaction that has little to do with coming.

 

-x-

 

“Not Emrys. Merlin,” Emrys mumbles as they fall asleep two, this time mutual, orgasms later.

 

-x-

 

“Children of four kinds, Emrys and Dragon, united in a moment of need. Side by side, they will change the world,” Gwaine reads the prophecy he just googled, smirking. 

Behind him, Leon facepalms.

* * *

**12.**

_Welcome to the Dream House_

 

Arthur works late on Tuesdays, so Morgana picks up take-away for dinner and brings her own paperwork to sift through until Arthur comes home. Once she's finished her work, she has a long, hot bath with the Chanel soap Arthur bought her for their last anniversary, puts on the sleeveless green dress she rarely gets to wear, and pours drinks. Tuesday nights are usually just dinner and television, but tonight will be special. 

Arthur smiles when he sees her in that bright, open way he has, and smiles again when she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. He kisses her on the lips and presses a few softer kisses to her collarbone. 

"Did you find out?" he asks, after they've had a drink. 

Morgana leans closer to him on the sofa. She can still smell the cologne he put on that morning, and how his skin warms to the familiar scent. "Friday night, around eight o'clock," she murmurs and kisses him behind the ear with a smile of her own.

They both have another drink, and Arthur slides his hand up Morgana's dress. He still has on his shirt and tie, his dark conservative suit jacket, when he fingers her. Arthur buries his face in her shoulder and tells her how beautiful she is, how good she smells, how he's been thinking about her all day at work. 

Morgana comes with a shaking gasp around Arthur's fingers, and then again when he presses his thumb to her clit and his lips to her neck and he kisses her again and again and again. She's lucky, she's so lucky, and she loves him so much. 

*

The house they visit on Friday night is like any other house in one of the better off suburbs: plain, neat, non-descript. Morgana fishes a set of keys from the green bowl on the coffee table and lights a cigarette. 

"Are you nervous?" The woman who walks up to Morgana offers her a glass of wine and a smile that makes Morgana feel like she's in uni again. 

"Oh, I don't know... Maybe?" 

"Don't be. I'm Gwen. That must be your husband talking to mine. The one with the ears," Gwen says and nods across the room.

Arthur has a shirt and jacket on, but Gwen's husband is wearing faded jeans and a grey henley shirt; he looks like the boys Arthur used to sleep with in uni. The thought makes Morgana giddy and she easily leans into the warmth of Gwen's hand on the small of her back. 

Later that night, in the mellow light of Gwen and Merlin's bedroom, Morgana kisses just about every inch of Gwen's body before finally going down on her. Gwen's so slick and needy by then that she almost cries at the touch of Morgana's tongue inside her; Morgana presses in closer and closer to revels in heat and the scent of Gwen's body all around her. 

When Gwen comes apart beneath her, Morgana knows her own climax is only a touch away. 

* 

They go to one more key party, but stop when Gwen and Merlin agree to meet up again the next month, and the month after that. It's just not worth going back when they're already happy.

Especially not when Merlin tells Morgana and Arthur that he's pretty sure he and Gwen have found exactly what they'd been looking for after years of dreaming about it. 

*

"There, hush, you're such a good boy," Merlin says, one finger slipping down Arthur's spine to his arse to the oiled hole. "You're always such a good boy for me..." 

"He really is," Morgana says. "I'm glad somebody finally taught him how to bottom properly." 

Merlin smiles over his shoulder and shakes his head. "That was Gwen." 

Arthur just makes a whimpery sound against Gwen's breasts when Morgana reaches over to stroke his cheek. He's already wrecked; her perfect, put-together husband is already such a complete wreck, his skin flushed and his hair tousled, his cock so hard that he's probably fit to burst thanks to Merlin's attentions. 

"Well, then." Morgana turns to Gwen and kisses her full on the mouth, keeps her hand in Arthur's hair as she kisses Gwen and murmurs "thank you" a dozen times over.

* * *

**13.**

There’s something about Hunith that has always made Gwen confide in her. 

Hunith sits by the small kitchen table in her nightdress, eating grapes out of a glass bowl. “I always get a bit peckish round this time,” she tells Gwen with a smile after apologising for startling her.

It's that smile. It makes her confess things she’d sworn she’d never tell anyone. Like the real reason that she broke up with Lance.

Gwen swallows back the odd lump in her throat. It’s weird talking about it, here with Merlin’s mum. It’s like she’s twelve again, whispering questions about periods with a mortified blush on her face.

She doesn’t know how to feel about the words she’s just let into the world, unchangeable. Silence fills the small kitchen as Hunith picks another grape from the bowl. 

“Before I met Balinor, I’d only been with a girl.” Hunith meets Gwen’s eyes and Gwen can’t look away, stricken. “She was my best friend for the longest time and I loved her. But I was always very confused, and I—well.”

Hunith smiles crookedly when Gwen just opens and closes her mouth. “Don’t be ashamed of what you want. Listen to your body and your heart.”

“I—thanks. Thank you.”

*

Had Hunith kissed the girl? Of course she had, she’d been in a relationship, hadn’t she?

Did they ride each other’s fingers, breasts moving with the rhythm?

Did the girl come on Hunith’s tongue?

Gwen chokes on her food and Merlin pats her on the back.

*

When they were kids they used to think Hunith had some strange superpower, always knowing what they were up to. In reality, it’s just that the walls of the Emrys house are paper-thin.

“This is just help, Gwen. I’m helping.” 

Hunith’s hands skim over her thighs, spreading them on top of her yellow floral bedsheets. 

“Just help,” Gwen says, warm and tingly and flushed. 

Her heart races as she stares up at the ceiling, waiting for the feeling of Hunith’s mouth on her and listening for signs of life from Merlin’s bedroom. Even if the room feels stuffy, the air is cool against her nipples and she cups a hand over one breast on instinct. 

She’s exposed, open and waiting for Hunith, the woman who’s always been a mother-figure, the one she’d asked whatever she could never ask her dad. 

“I’ll show you how to make a woman feel good,” Hunith’s breath ghosts across Gwen’s inner thigh and she jolts, wetness flooding her cunt. 

“Yeah.”

Her back arches when Hunith’s mouth opens against her cunt, tongue following the slit, and Gwen moans, biting her lip against the burst of sensations in her gut. She reaches up and grabs the headboard, tries not to rub herself against Hunith’s face the way she desperately wants to. 

Hunith shushes her before she opens her up with her tongue, her hands spreading Gwen’s thighs when they want to clamp down around Hunith’s head. Gwen screws her eyes shut against the building pressure, unable to keep her hips still. 

Her eyes water with the strain of staying quiet when Hunith suckles on her clit, takes it into her mouth and flicks it with the tip of her tongue. The sheets are sticking to Gwen’s back as she writhes, not knowing how to release the crushing pressure of her need. 

God, she couldn’t handle it if Merlin found her like this, her cunt spread open on his mother’s tongue, being taken apart until she’s nothing but a sobbing mess. 

She rocks her hips, rides Hunith’s face shamelessly until it’s so good she can’t tell up from down. And she comes like that, biting the back of her hand as her breath comes out in muffled, broken gasps.

When she returns the following night she puts her lips on Hunith’s cunt with purpose. She buries herself in it, drinks it like she’s dying of thirst, takes Hunith’s muffled moans as her prize. She looks up to find Hunith flushed and shame-faced, and says, “I just need to practise.”

* * *


	6. Group B (clean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**14.**

Arthur sat gingerly in the tattoo chair. His body was shaking with nerves but he wanted this. He had painstakingly picked out the exact design, placement, and artists for his first tattoo. But all the preparation in the world didn't make up for the cold dread at the thought of the needle going to his skin. 

"You okay?" The tattoo artist smiled, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

His name was Merlin. He was tall and ethereal and, if Arthur wasn't so damn nervous, exactly what Arthur would have lusted over. Arthur didn't pick him for his looks though. His portfolio was beautiful. A mix of detailed, intricate designs and vibrant colors. Arthur was obsessed with his work from the moment he saw it. 

"Yeah," it came out hoarse and he cleared his throat. 

"It's just my first time. And I shouldn't exactly be doing this....my father would kill me if he knew." Arthur laid his head back on the chair and took a deep breath. 

"Ahhhh that explains it. You're a virgin!" Merlin laughed and his eyes crinkled and Arthur could stop himself from noticing how pretty he was. 

"Woah woah wait. I wouldn't say that," Arthur said, feigning confidence. Merlin laughed harder. 

"Alright Casanova. I'm not trying to insult your manhood." He was meticulously pouring different colors of ink into tiny cups. Arthur felt oddly more comfortable watching his deft hands work. 

"Take off your shirt off," Merlin said his back to him. Arthur obliged. Merlin turned and met his eyes. 

"You ready babe?" Arthur took a deep breath and nodded in response.

The moment the gun touched the skin over his heart, Arthur felt the buzz travel through his body. He watched Merlin concentrate on drawing outline and felt something stir in his belly. Between the slight burning from the tattoo gun and the sight of Merlin, he felt himself grow hard. 

When Merlin reached his collarbone, Arthur felt the sting shoot down his arm and he couldn't help but let out a small moan. Merlin's eyes shot up at the noise and Arthur noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

"Stay still," he whispered, his breath ghosting across Arthur's collarbone. Arthur shivered. 

Merlin continued to work on the tattoo and Arthur just felt his cock get harder and harder. By the time Merlin leaned back and said they were done, Arthur had to stop himself from relieving some of the pressure. He was surprised, though, to see Merlin's own hardness through his tight pants. 

Merlin smirked when he caught him looking. Arthur's eyes followed his hand as it reached down and palmed his cock through his jeans. Merlin let his eyes close and let out a moan. He then leaned forward and gave Arthur the most sinful kiss he'd ever experienced. Arthur groaned and reached down to stroke his own cock. Merlin broke the kiss and looked down at him. 

"Tattooing you has been a pleasure."

* * *

**15.**

**SCENE I. KNIGHTS’ quarters.**

_Enter the very few KNIGHTS who still haven’t tired of GWAINE’s buffoonery._

GWAINE: …I swear to you, it is true!

PERCIVAL: Your oath is often not enough for someone to believe you.

GWAINE: For that, I’m not at fault. You all have stood beside me;  
we’ve fought together, drank together, done some…  
Other things together. And yet there’s still doubt  
in your hearts that my tales are anything but truthful.

LEON: …Other things?

GWAINE: You doubt about this, too?

LEON: I simply know not what you speak of.

GWAINE: Leon, dearest, must you play the fool?

LEON: I’m not your dear, sir. I’d rather you  
do not dub me that, if it would please you.

GWAINE: I can think of lots of things that please me.

PERCIVAL: I do not doubt you do. But come now, Gwaine,  
take your own advice to heart. Stop your teasing.  
It’s clear that sir Leon wanders not off the virtuous  
path and finds the mere thought of such acts forbidden. 

ELYAN: Percival, have you…?

PERCIVAL: Please do not inquire, brother, if lies you do not wish to hear.

ELYAN: This plea of yours is but an answer as clear as there can be.

LEON: If you would pardon me, my friends. I still do not understand.

GWAINE: _(to Percival)_ Think he needs a helping hand?

PERCIVAL: Don’t. Please forgive us, Leon. We only jest.  
Let us put an end to it and let us all go rest.

_Exit_

**SCENE II. Physician’s chambers.**

_Enter LEON and MERLIN_

MERLIN: …But I have spoken too long, now.  
Please, tell me, Sir, what ails you?

LEON: It’s not a pain that brought me here today,  
my friend, you needn’t worry. But the matter is  
most delicate, indeed, and not for anybody’s ear,  
so I thought that we might need to hurry…

MERLIN: You have piqued my curiosity!

LEON: I do not doubt it. But listen to the truth I must unveil.  
You see, not long ago, after long day’s work,  
my fellow knights and I were speaking—  
or, rather, listening to sir Gwaine’s tales.

MERLIN: This does not surprise me.

LEON: I did not expect it would. But there was something  
that he said; something in-between adventures  
and the scrambles and the swooning ladies. He told me that he…

MERLIN: Yes?

LEON: Lay with men as well as women.

MERLIN: …This was a surprise to you?

LEON: But of course! By Gods, is there anyone left  
in this kingdom with a drop of shame, a hint of discretion?

MERLIN: Leon, Leon, Leon… You’ve truly gotten this all wrong  
But fear not. I will enlighten you. I just implore you – pay attention…

**SCENE III. Private chambers.**

_Enter LEON and GWAINE._

GWAINE: I must ask of you, my dear, while I do enjoy  
your sudden change of heart, your oh-so-eager kisses,  
your gentle hands upon me,  
what truly made you seek me out tonight?

LEON: Merlin. He told me what you would not.

GWAINE: But did he show you?

LEON: He did not.

GWAINE: Do you wish me to?

LEON: Oh, please.

GWAINE: That eagerness of yours is so delicious.  
_(palms the front of Leon’s trousers)_ I wonder if this sweet would be  
anything else that you may give.

LEON: Gwaine! I beg of you, Do not remain a tease.

GWAINE: _(laughs)_ You do not have to worry, darling.  
I will do as you please.

* * *

**16.**

This is symbolic. Like the king taking a bride's maidenhead. This is a rite of conquest. 

That doesn't mean Arthur likes it. 

'You led the vanguard, it's your victory,' says Uther. 'Just pick one, for God's sake, Arthur,'

Tiny Ealdor is of strategic importance in the war against Cenred. There are only five virgins kneeling in the mud, staring at Arthur with bloody murder in their faces. More than one of them has killed this morning.

How can Arthur do this? They would all fight him - so he'll have to fuck whoever he picksby force. It's on the tip of his tongue to refuse, even if that means that his father will do it instead, like he has before - when a bitter voice from amongst the assembled villagers says, 'I'm a virgin. Have me.'

A gangly, blood-smeared thing pushes forward. He looks like he's made of bird-bones and steel wire. 'If the prince sees nothing to his liking there, let him have me,' he says, blue eyes daring Arthur. 'If he can get it up for me, that is.'

Sir Kay clouts him. 'Show respect, or lose your tongue.'

Uther clears his throat. Arthur must choose. 'The boy,' he says. 'I'll - I'll take the boy.' He pushes into the nearest hut rather than look at his father's face.

It's dark inside. Even so, Arthur doesn't know where to look, and starts trying to disarm himself rather than think about what he's about to do - until a buckle on his breastplate catches and won't be wrenched free.

'Here,' says the boy, slipping up to him and freeing leather from metal. As the armour comes away, Arthur's doubt and his desire grow, warring with each other. The boy is everything Arthur moans in his dreams over - flat muscle, clever hands - but this is _wrong_.

'We don't have to do this.'

The boy snorts, pulls away, leaves Arthur and strips his own clothes off, fast and jerkily. 'Yes, we do,' he says flatly.

'You can't want to. Look, if we just sit it out -'

A strange expression crosses the boy's face. 'Then they'll all know you couldn't do it. I'll tell them.'

_'Why?'_

'Because this village is mine to protect and I couldn't.' The boy, who looks more like a man every moment although he can't be more than Arthur's own sixteen years, spits the words with hatred. 'At least I could save someone else from this - but now, it's even better. You don't want this, you hate the thought of it, so now I'm going to _make_ you. Fuck me, Arthur. And do it properly or I'll go out there and tell them all exactly what kind of man you are.'

By the time he finishes speaking he's done baring himself. Naked and defiant he throws himself on the big rough-framed bed, and puts his hands between his legs, in the dark space below his soft cock. He sucks his fingers wet, to work himself open, and virgin or no he must have done this before, this thing that Arthur has wanted but never dared. 

Arthur gets hard. They both do, moment by moment, until the boy is gasping and writhing on the linens and Arthur is standing helplessly watching, hands cupped over his shameful reaction. 

'Fuck me,' the boy orders. Arthur shakes his head.

The next thing he knows, he's up against the wall. 'You don't want to?' the boy asks, hand curved around Arthur's cock. 'Like you didn't want to kill my mother?'

There _was_ a dark-haired, blue-eyed woman - 

'This was her house. Her bed.'

'I'm sorry,' Arthur chokes out. 

'Are you?'

The boy shoves Arthur onto the mattress, kneels over him, forces himself down onto Arthur's cock. It feels better than Arthur could ever have imagined, good enough to make his eyes blur. It is the single worst moment of his life

'This is what you wanted,' the boy breathes, lifting and sinking, fucking himself. 'This is conquest. You won, you killed and you burned and you've _won_ so now you get this. You get to fuck me. You get to fuck whoever you like. How does victory feel?'

The tears in Arthur's eyes mix with the spray of the boy's come across his face.

* * *

**17.**

You buy the potion from a sorceress just over the Essetir border. Forbidden goods in a forbidden territory. The fear of getting caught only adds to the thrill.

You pour it into a goblet of wine two nights later, and invite your manservant to partake. Merlin - ever guileless, ever unsuspecting - drinks it.

You wait.

It’s only three days before Merlin’s posture starts to change. He hunches over. He won’t look you in the eye. 

You pull him into a friendly hug one day, and pretend to be puzzled when he winces and draws away.

There are two tiny spots of moisture on his tunic. And you think, it’s happening, oh Gods it’s happening.

***

It takes two weeks for Merlin to confide in you. In that time you’ve watched with pleasure as his little chest has swelled under the baggy tunics he now habitually wears. You suspect he’s tried to bind himself too, futilely.

There’s only one way to alleviate that kind of discomfort.

And so you corner him one night. In fits and starts he sobbingly confesses the truth.

“It must be a spell,” he stutters. “Or… or a curse-”

“Can I see?” you say. 

Merlin is reluctant. It takes a lot of careful coaxing before he peels his tunic off, lets you slowly unwind the bandage he’s wrapped around himself.

Revealed, Merlin is… breath-taking. His nipples are pink and swollen, atop the gentle curve of his new-made breasts. Best of all is the wetness already forming at their tips.

You pinch one suddenly and Merlin gasps in dismay as a squirt of milk splashes onto your fingers.

“Don’t-” he starts but you simply bring your hand up to cup the other. They’re a perfect weight in your palms, warm and thrillingly full.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” you say softly. “But I think I need to milk you.”

Merlin flinches in shame. 

“I don’t need-” he begins miserably but you cut him off.

“You do. It’s not healthy to leave them like this.”

He looks wretched and you give his nipple a reassuring caress.

“I’ll be gentle. I’ll use my mouth.”

He shivers and you smile.

***

You lie him on his side and arrange him close to your body, your leg pressed firm in between his two. Then you lower your head and begin to suckle.

He tastes so sweet. It’s like some forgotten treat from childhood, or a delicacy sampled only once in a Kingdom far away. You’ve gone without it so long and now you know you never can again.

It comes as a shock to you when you feel Merlin’s cock plumping up against your leg. You pause in your ministrations, raise your head to see his eyes are squeezed shut in denial, his cheeks pink.

“I don’t know why-” he chokes out and you hush him, awed. You only wanted his milk before but now you want everything, all that you can take from him. 

“It’s alright,” you whisper. “Perfectly natural. I’ll take care of you.”

You bring two fingers to your mouth and suck on them slowly. Then you delve your hand inside his breeches, and feel around for that little secret pucker. You slip one finger inside, ignoring the little pained noise he makes, his weak attempt to struggle away. You add another and his body sucks you in, greedy, hungry. Merlin may not think he wants this but you know better. Your fingers have found a welcome inside him and you intend to enjoy your stay.

You begin to thrust in and out and he sighs involuntarily, hips skittering against your body. You let him buck up against you, let him moan out his cries against your collarbone. When you dip your head to take one rosy nipple in your mouth again, he clenches around your fingers. So tight, so warm. 

You suck slowly, savouring the sweet milk that drips onto your tongue as you scissor your fingers back and forth. Merlin is keening now, head thrown back in unwilling ecstasy, overwhelmed by the fingers inside him and the mouth feeding from him.

His hips stutter and he makes one last desperate moan, then his inner walls tighten around you and he comes. 

A feeling of accomplishment washes over you, strong and heady. You’ve milked this beautiful boy in every sense of the word, and this is only the beginning.

Unless he realises what you’ve done to him, of course. But he never will. What does Merlin know of magic?

* * *

**18.**

Merlin ducks into the shadows just as the hovercraft turns the corner. There is a second of hesitation, but it doesn’t turn on the searchlights and Merlin is in the clear. Thank the gods. He takes a deep breath and sets off running again.

~*~

When he finally comes to a halt, he quickly looks around for any followers before taking off his backpack and stuffing it down the manhole. Even if he gets caught, he’ll make sure Gwen and the others get the vaccine. The need to protect her and Lance from the plague is embedded in his very core. How could it not be, when they’d sacrificed everything they had to keep them safe?

~*~

“Run,” he screams, “run!”

Most of them do.

Not Mordred, though. Mordred stands beside him, stubborn as only a 17-year-old can be.

“I’ll help you,” he says. “I’ve practiced. We’ll protect them together.”

~*~

Only Merlin makes it out alive--at least as far as he knows. He hasn’t heard anything from any of the others. Not a whisper, not a note, nothing.

He lets himself grieve Mordred for one night, but as the morning fog sweeps in, he tucks the pain away. Grieving can be done later. Now he needs to find water, food and a place to sleep.

~*~

What he finds instead is an unconscious, dirty man lying in a ditch by one of the deserted highways. The man doesn’t look magic--doesn’t feel magic--but Merlin can’t bring himself to leave him behind.

~*~

The building Merlin finds isn’t safe--they would need to leave the country to reach true safety--but it’s something less damp and less exposed than outside. The man stirs where he’s been laid down on the hard floor. Merlin reaches out for him and touches his shoulder gently to try to calm him. 

 

Afterwards, Merlin thinks he should have been more observant. He should have seen that the man’s blue eyes were laced with gold. He should have seen the symptoms straight away.

But he doesn’t, and the man jumps him, getting him flat on his back before he can even react. Reaching out for his magic, Merlin stops himself just in time. The man must be infected. He’s burning with it--the desire for his magic as a drug and as a cure. Without it, he’ll combust.

Using magic to keep him away will only make it worse. In one way or another, Merlin will lose this battle.

The man tears desperately at Merlin’s belt and trousers. Merlin grips the man’s biceps and tries to keep his voice calm as he speaks to him.

“You’re...” he stutters as the man practically growls at him and buries his face in his crotch. Merlin swallows. The man’s best bet is to get the vaccine and pray that it helps. “I’ll help you. We’ll get you the vaccine, we’ll think of s--”

The man swallows down Merlin’s soft cock and starts sucking on it like it’s his life’s mission. It’s the plague, the obsession, Merlin knows, but the man’s mouth... gods. He knows he should fight it, but it’s been years since someone last did this, and he’s not a good man. Not anymore. One more sin won’t make a difference--not in life nor in death.

Without much effort, the man manages to get Merlin hard and positions himself to slowly sink down on his cock. He’s already slick and there’s very little resistance when Merlin breaches him. It must be a side effect of the disease, Merlin thinks, but the more sense he tries to make of it, the less it seems to matter. Nothing seems to matter except the man grinding down on him.

He is beautiful, Merlin realises. A regal nose, red lips, a flat stomach, and a blond happy trail that leads to a thick, short cock that’s leaking an impressive amount of precome. On his chest, a thin silver chain with a letter “A” pendant bobs rhythmically with the man’s rocking movements. With a low moan, the man tips his head back and breathes out shakily. 

“I need you... to come inside me.”

Unable to disobey, Merlin puts his hands on the man’s hairy thighs and thrusts hard. The reward is a deep sigh of pleasure from the man. Merlin does it again and again.

The letter A. Merlin suddenly realises he’s seen the man before. He’s the usurper’s son, he’s...

He comes with a gasp. 

“... Arthur.”

* * *

**19.**

“Arthur?” Leon–Uther’s personal assistant–doesn’t look exactly disappointed, he never does, but there’s something about the way he exhales and pushes up his glasses–middle finger to the hinge–that tells Arthur he’s definitely in trouble. “Arthur, you know you’re not allowed in your father’s office. I have to punish you.”

There it is. Arthur purses his lips and pretends he’s guilty when he nods.

“Go to the desk, Arthur.”

Arthur goes around the desk and pushes the chair aside. He begins to undress himself, perhaps too eagerly: a slap lands on his ass. It’s the sound that comes first, always the sound, and it echoes from the walls of the room. Immediately after comes the sting of pain he savours so much. His skin warms up and the heat spreads in afterwaves.

“Your meekness cannot help you,” Leon murmurs.

Arthur takes it slow from here; even tries to put up a show. He can sense Leon’s presence behind him, and he likes to imagine Leon’s eyes appreciating the view. Arthur has a nice body, fit enough but soft, and his round, plump ass is a delight to hold, and knead, and slap. He thinks about Leon’s eyes following the band of underwear revealing more and more of it. A pleasant tinge runs down his cock and makes it harden.

“Hold onto the desk.” Leon instructs once Arthur is completely naked, and he obeys.

Cold liquid drips just above the crack of his ass and makes him shudder with surprise. The lube tickles his skin while oozing down.

“Ah-ah, don’t clench,” Leon warns him. A generously coated finger presses against Arthur’s sacrum bone and slides down between his buttocks. He exhales, tries to relax his muscles from the clench of anticipation. Leon runs his finger up and down. It’s not so much a coax rather than a tease; soon enough the finger probes, and slides in.

Arthur tilts his head back and curves his spine, pushing against Leon’s finger. Leon is motionless and it’s up to Arthur to please himself. He thinks of Leon’s cock straining against the front of his trousers: the thought makes him hard, so hard he has to let go of the desk and bring his cock onto the desk.

Leon pulls his finger out. “Are you holding tight?” he asks instead of a warning.  
Arthur nods. Then, a hand is on his hip, an index finger nested comfortable just over the bone. Something bigger pushes into Arthur. He inhales, and the anticipation makes his muscles quiver. Leon is never rough, but he is… efficient. He slides in and the slip speeds up for the last inch, the feeling of it exhilarating. Arthur can almost feel the pleasant rub against his prostate and has to bite his lower lip, but a moan escapes him nonetheless.

Leon hugs Arthur from behind and pushes in harder. He is tall enough to put his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and lick his earlobe. His neatly trimmed facial hair pricks at the sensitive skin but Arthur likes it. He tilts his head to the side, exposing additional flesh for Leon to devour.

“That’s a perfectly good suit you’re ruining,” he says, fluttering his lashes just in case Leon can see. Maybe he’s imagining it or maybe it’s the increase in speed, but Leon’s cock grows harder.

Leon sighs. “Whose fault do you think that is?” he asks, and slides one hand from Arthur’s hip to his navel, abdomen, follows the trail of hairs until his fingers wrap around Arthur’s cock. “And whose finalized contract do you think you’ll come onto?”

Arthur glances down. “Leon, please…” He tries to back away from the desk but Leon has him pinned.

“Consequences, Arthur.”

Arthur tries to push back again but Leon’s cock rubs him just the right way and makes him shudder. Leon never halts, and soon Arthur is a shuddery, gasping mess, coming all over his father’s desk and paperwork. In his ear Leon is groaning. His cock throbs, and satisfaction adds to the ripples of orgasm shaking Arthur’s body.

For a couple of moments there is nothing but their ragged breath, and Arthur is hyperaware of Leon’s hands on him.

“Father will kill me,” he says when he can breathe again.

“Oh, that’s not his copy,” Leon says, and kisses Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s mine.”

* * *

**20.**

It’s a testament to how fucked up Merlin is when the best fuck of his life is his brother.

And by that he doesn’t mean his bros, as in his mates, as in the guys he shoots the shit with at the pub on Friday nights when really he’s aching for a cock in his arse at home. No. He means his _brother_. Different moms, same dad.

Not that you would know by how Uther acts. Arthur’s the oldest, _not_ illegitimate child and gets treated accordingly.

But Merlin doesn’t mind much, really. Because when Uther turns the overbearing, demanding dick act to eleven on Arthur, well, Arthur gets in a _mood_. And when Arthur’s in a mood he needs to take it out on someone. Merlin loves it a lot, being taken out on. By his brother.

Fucked up.

*****

To be fair, it didn’t really start with Uther, though falling back on their respective daddy issues is what they do. But no, Uther being… Uther, didn’t make them do shit. They did that all on their own.

It started in the kiddy pool.

And that makes it sound creepy as fuck. They weren’t like, boning each other when they were five, Jesus.

It was the summer before uni and they’d fill the kiddy pool with icy water for a shocky contrast to the heated pool. They were in the backyard after everyone had left, pissed and naked from playing strip water polo. Arthur whined about his dick being cold, Merlin offered to warm it, and next thing he knew he was sucking his brother’s cock. He pressed with his hands on the inside of Arthur’s thighs to spread him wide, while Arthur rested his cold beer on Merlin’s shoulder like a douche. 

“C’mon, little brother,” Arthur’d said, breathy on the ‘brother’ as he fucked up, came down Merlin’s throat. “Cocksucking champ.” He’d laughed, pushed his thumb inside Merlin’s mouth beside his softening cock. Merlin could have hammered nails with his dick.

He still spit Arthur’s jizz at his face.

*****

It’s a summer thing.

They don’t go to the same unis, mostly see each other at Christmas and during vacations when they’re both back home. 

Merlin loves summers. No one fucks him like Arthur fucks him. No one has a cock like his brother’s. Just fat and long enough to get him just right. No one knows exactly how Merlin likes it. No one knows Merlin like Arthur knows Merlin. Inside out.

Merlin’s three fingers deep, listening to the fight downstairs between Uther and Arthur. 

This one’s gonna be good.

And sure enough, not two minutes after he hears the front door slam, Arthur’s in Merlin’s doorway. Merlin could have waited for him in Arthur’s own bedroom, but somehow Arthur likes fucking his little brother in his childhood bed. Everyone has their little things.

“What did dad want?” Merlin asks, arching his back a little so Arthur has a good view of his stuffed, shiny hole.

“Whatever,” Arthur says, already taking his cock out of his slacks and pulling Merlin’s fingers out of his arse roughly. He spits on his hand, wet his dick and pushes in without stopping until he’s balls deep, has Merlin stretched good.

He fucks Merlin hard and fast just like Merlin knew he would. Enough that Merlin has to get his hands on the wall so Arthur doesn’t ram him into it. Enough that Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s hips will leave marks.

Fuck, but Arthur is _pretty_ like this. Merlin watches him in the mirror over the desk, sweaty and flushed with hair sticking to his forehead. His golden, perfect, older brother.

Arthur puts an arm around Merlin’s chest, makes Merlin’s sit on his dick, in his lap. And he grinds, comes with a loud grunt and a shiver, filling Merlin, with lips on Merlin’s throat, nosing behind his ear.

 

“Come on, Merlin,” he says, takes Merlin’s cock in his fist while he’s still fucking coming in his arse. “Make a mess.”

Merlin’s been hard for fucking ever, so it doesn’t take much--a twist of Arthur’s hand and a filthy sideways kiss. Just the feeling of Arthur leaking out of his arse, and he’s jizzing all over the sheets.

Arthur pushes him forward so Merlin lands in the wet spot, laughing about it.

Merlin rolls his eyes and spreads his arse open instead where he knows he’s all red and used and still trickling Arthur’s come.

No one eats him out like his brother does.

Fucked up.

* * *

**21.**

"Merlin, _must_ you keep squirming? You're going to give our position away," Arthur whispered.

"Sorry, sire," Merlin replied as he tried to keep still. The two of them were pressed together, in a ridiculously small tunnel-like hole in the ground, as they waited out the enemy. Merlin closed his eyes as he tried to keep his breathing even and refrain from squirming to keep his hard cock, a direct result of the close proximity, away from Arthur's ass. He cursed his luck at being so close to Arthur that he couldn't even use his magic to get them out of this predicament. There was no possibility Arthur wouldn't overhear a whispered spell. Worse still, Merlin had the ever more pressing need to pee.

Merlin managed to count all the way to two-hundred in his head before he couldn't take the pressure anymore. He opened his eyes and shifted again.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered again and Merlin stopped moving instantly. "Do you have ants in your britches or something?"

"Sorry, I..." Merlin whispered back, "I... really need to piss."

"Oh, that's just perfect. You'd better hold it, Merlin," Arthur demanded.

"I'm _trying_ ," Merlin insisted. He sighed and moved one of his hands down to his crotch to grip his hard cock over his britches. The squeeze of his hand provided a small amount of relief from the pressure in his gut but the small amount of room had Merlin's knuckles grazing against Arthur's ass with every squirm.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur warned as he shot a glance over his shoulder at Merlin.

"I can't _help_ it," Merlin insisted, feeling his cheeks grow hot with shame as he shimmied his hips again and squeezed the base of his cock, which had only grown more interested in the proceedings as his bladder continued its protest.

"Damn it, Merlin," Arthur cursed as he fought to turn around and face him completely. Merlin closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lower lip. He was unwilling to meet Arthur's own eyes when all he wanted to do was let go in some way, _any_ way.

"I thought you needed to pee?" Arthur questioned when he finally stilled and Merlin opened his eyes in confusion at the question.

"I do," Merlin insisted.

"Looks like you have an entirely different sort of problem to me," Arthur replied, clearly amused. Arthur's fingers brushed against the hand Merlin had around his hard cock to make his point, causing Merlin to release his grip in shame.

 

"What, the royal pra-highness has never woken up with a stiffy and a need to p-piss?" Merlin asked, stuttering out the last word as Arthur wrapped his own hand around Merlin's cock.

"I can never piss when I'm that hard," Arthur replied. He squeezed Merlin's cock slightly and then pulled back his hand back.

"Sire..." Merlin said, unsure of whether he was bemoaning about the withdrawal of touch or that the touch had ever been present. His question was answered when he felt Arthur tug on the strings of his britches and his hips automatically bucked forward for more contact. "Oh, gods," Merlin cursed and closed his eyes again when Arthur's hand wrapped around his bare cock.

"I find that a helpful hand is always nice," Arthur explained as he quickly stroked Merlin's cock, thumb rubbing across the exposed head as his foreskin was pulled down.

Merlin bit his lower lip once again to keep in his moan as he climaxed embarrassingly quickly to Arthur's fast and sure strokes. Once the pressure and bliss of his orgasm had subsided, Merlin was reminded of his other pressing need and he hurriedly wrapped his hand around his cock to keep from pissing all over Arthur's front.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin and laughed as he crawled out of their hiding spot. Merlin watched, stupefied as Arthur poked his head back in.

"Enemy’s moved on. Better take care of that so we can get back to camp," Arthur answered the unasked question before he disappeared out of sight again.

Merlin sighed with relief as he finally let go. He aimed the stream at the place Arthur had just vacated and watched as the earth turned darker with the wetness. Merlin let out a heartfelt groan as the steam slowed to a trickle and he imagined what it would feel like to be allowed to mark Arthur in such a forbidden fashion. Merlin smiled to himself as he tucked himself away and then went to find Arthur.

* * *

**22.**

Morgana's world first fell apart when she was ten years old. 

Her beloved father, Duke Gorlois, died in battle. Suddenly she found herself grieving among strangers in unfamiliar Camelot, in the care of Uther Pendragon. It was whispered that Uther had sent Gorlois to his death, deliberately withholding reinforcements. The king scared her.

Prince Arthur was her junior, and merely a brat in her eyes. 

She was alone.

The only caring person at court was Arthur's uncle, Lord Agravaine, who served on the royal council.

A dashing man in his prime, Agravaine reminded Morgana a little of Gorlois. He listened to her, and took her seriously. He had a kind and open face. She came to trust him. 

His presence made her feel safe. She started smiling again. The light returned to her eyes.

She discovered Agravaine's true nature when he took her to his chambers, having promised her a book about Gorlois' campaigns. Agravaine locked the door, pulled her tight and clamped a strong hand over her mouth. His wet lips latched onto her neck while he tore at her bodice. He toppled her into bed, his weight nearly crushing her small frame. Pulling her skirt up, he loosened his breeches and penetrated her in one forceful thrust. The pain nearly made her pass out. 

When he finally finished, he kissed and petted her, and told her that he loved her. There were tears in his eyes. She wanted to vomit. 

It was her own fault, he said. She was a temptress who had bewitched him. If she ever let anyone know what they'd done together, he'd tell Uther that she had magic and had used it on him. Being a royal ward wouldn't save her then. 

It was no empty threat. There was a frighteningly fanatical gleam in Uther's eyes whenever he spoke about the evils of sorcery. During Morgana's three years in Camelot she'd several times endured the horrific screams of girls and women burned as sorceresses on very flimsy evidence.

She left Agravaine with her dress in disarray and her mind in turmoil, pain wracking her body. 

The betrayal crushed her soul. The violation changed her forever.

Morgana told no-one. Who could she confide in? Who would take her word over Agravaine's?

Once he'd had her, his lust proved insatiable. He cornered her in her chambers, pulled her into empty store-rooms, took her out riding for hours. He'd pant revolting words of adoration at her averted face while he thrust hard, his thick cock moving in and out, in and out. He'd force his tongue into her mouth, believing himself to be kissing her, groaning and shuddering as he came inside her. 

Morgana didn't know herself any more. Her body wasn't hers. 

She hid behind her beautiful face and a too-mature, regal demeanour. 

Horror lurked behind powerful men's fake smiles. She would never make the mistake of trusting such a one again. But she taught herself to exploit their weaknesses. An enigmatic half-smile, a coy glance, a dress too provocative for her age, and lords and knights practically fell at her feet. 

Morgana was a survivor.

Gaining Uther's trust was an important achievement. Soon she risked telling him in confidence that she'd overheard Lord Agravaine praising his late brother Tristan. She feared Agravaine wasn't as loyal as he appeared. 

Uther was always quick to believe the worst. Manipulating him was easy. A few well-placed lies later, he summarily banished his brother-in-law from Camelot.

Agravaine still lived, but Morgana was rid of him. 

She was done with the bodies of men, their disgusting sweat, heavy breathing and wandering hands. 

She was fifteen years old.

*********

Years had passed and much had changed when she visited Agravaine in his exile, ordering him back to Camelot.

Morgana was in complete control. She could easily crush him with magic. He would never touch her again. 

She had nothing but contempt for him and his obsequious ways. She held his pathetic desires over his head like a whip, and made him crawl in the dust like the snake he was. 

He proved a useful minion. Agravaine's earnest smile and trustworthy appearance made King Arthur welcome his uncle back as a chief royal advisor. 

Morgana was poised to kill two birds with one stone. She could torment Agravaine and bring Arthur down.

As soon as she'd secured her rightful place on the throne, Agravaine would die.

He had it coming. The lost girl screaming inside her told her so. 

All of them had it coming.

* * *

**23.**

Merlin was in serious trouble. He kept trying to look away, but he couldn't help staring at Arthur's body as he swam in their pool.

He should have said no when his mother suggested going for a swim to celebrate Arthur’s early return home, but Merlin couldn’t say no.

Arthur had the perfect swimmer's body. His muscles were well-defined without it seeming like Arthur lived in the gym. Merlin watched the water glistening off Arthur's body and couldn't help wanting to lick every droplet off.

Merlin knew it was wrong. Arthur and Morgana's father Uther and Merlin's mother had married when Merlin was 10 and Arthur was fifteen. Arthur was supposed to be his brother, but Merlin could never see him that way. 

Arthur suddenly popped up out of the water. He splashed Merlin with water.

"Don't you ever get tired of doing that?"

"Never." Arthur smirked. "You never get tired of tormenting your younger brother, especially one who's such an easy target.

Merlin dried himself off. He could feel Arthur's eyes on him.

Arthur got out and sat at the edge of the pool. "Are you getting excited? You'll be out of here before you know it."

"It'll be difficult to adjust, not having my family around, getting used to sharing a room."

"You probably won't have to share. I don't."

"Yeah, I know you love that. Sharing has never really been your thing."

Arthur grinned. "Aw, is someone still jealous they never had their own bathroom?"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur got out of the pool and put his arm around Merlin. "It's very comforting coming home and knowing things are exactly as you left them. I hope you've managed to stay out of my room." Arthur's grip tightened. " I would hate to have to kick your arse on my first night back."

Merlin pushed at Arthur. "I know your room is off limits."

"Good." 

Merlin tried to be subtle about it when he left a couple of minutes later. He didn’t know why Arthur was still so obsessed with keeping him out of his room. It must be a power trip thing.

Merlin got to Arthur’s room and shut the door. He didn't think he had left anything in Arthur's room, but he wanted to double check.

He'd had a lot of good times in Arthur’s bathroom. He put Arthur’s shower massager to good use and had several fantasies about Arthur in there.

Merlin did a quick sweep of the room and determined nothing amiss. He stopped when he heard Arthur outside his room door.

"I just want to get something out of my room."

Merlin's eyes bulged and he dove into the closet by Arthur’s bed.

After a minute, he slowly opened the door a crack. He almost swallowed his tongue when he saw Arthur bent over with his arse in full view. He was taking off his swim trunks.

Arthur turned around and started toweling himself dry. 

Merlin could feel his traitorous body quickly begin to respond. More troubling, and causing him to claw at the wall, was seeing that Arthur was growing hard, too. 

Arthur cupped his cock. Arthur slowly ran his hand down his body and then gripped his length.

When he let out a soft moan, Merlin couldn't help the way he hitched his hips slightly and began to rut against the closet door.

Arthur made quick work stripping his cock. After two more hard strokes, Arthur threw his head back and came all over the floor.

When Arthur got up, Merlin prepared himself to leave, but he was stunned when Arthur stalked toward the closet. Arthur slid open the door and Merlin was left standing there with his mouth agape and a clear erection.

“I-I can explain.”

Arthur just stared at him for one heated moment before he took a hold of Merlin’s arm and yanked him out of the closet. He took him to his bathroom. He pushed Merlin inside the tub.

“Get on your knees.”

He slowly complied. 

“What am I going to do with you, Merlin?”

Arthur stalked forward and pushed Merlin down. He yanked Merlin’s trunks down.“Brothers don’t fantasize about each other. Brothers don’t spend every night thinking about the other naked. Brothers don’t wank to images of fucking each other senseless.”

It was like Arthur was reading Merlin’s mind.

Arthur leaned over to whisper in Merlin’s ear. “That’s the way I think about you.”

Merlin whipped his head around and looked at Arthur in shock. 

Arthur just nodded slightly and looked into Merlin’s eyes. 

Merlin recognized the look of lust.

Arthur licked his lips. “What do you want, Merlin?”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Fuck me, please.”

* * *

**24.**

“Cook says ...” Sefa swallows. “We aren't to tup the knights.”

“Well now. I'm not much of a knight, am I?”

“You're still a knight.” And the most gossiped-about knight there is. There's no one in and out of Lady Isolde's chambers, but they still whisper about her. “Why me?”

“You know, I think you actually want to know.” Sefa nods. She's quiet. She isn't one of the pretty girls who get raps on the knuckles from cook for flirting with Sir Gwaine. There's no reason she ought to be standing here in the corridor, with Lady Isolde's work-rough fingers trailing across her cheek. “It's because you're nothing like him.”

Everyone knows the story of how Lady Isolde was knighted, and who she lost. “That's not a very good reason.”

Just like that, Lady Isolde retreats, and Sefa breathes. “No, perhaps not.”

*

“A lady's maid and a nurse?”

Sefa doesn't look up. “Both require stitching. Is what they're saying true?”

“That I'm King Arthur's whore? I don't think Guinevere would stand for it.”

“That he said those things to you. I suppose it is.” Sefa glances up. Lady Isolde is leaning against her bedpost, sweating, jaw clenched. She refused the ale Sefa offered to take the edge off the pain. “They always say such things. I'm glad you stabbed him.”

“Really?” A sideways glance. “I believe you are. The cook tells you not to tumble the knights, but does anyone tell the knights to leave you be?”

“I wouldn't know. I'm not a knight.”

“You're a puzzle, though.”

“Not really.” Sefa knots the last stitch. She can't be a puzzle. People like to solve those.

“Aren't you?” Lady Isolde grabs her arm before she can move too far away. “What happens if you tup the knights, Sefa?”

“Talk. Whispers. Insults, sometimes. Why do you care?”

“Because I like a puzzle.”

*

“I'll—I'll leave. It's nothing urgent.”

Isolde wipes the tears from her cheeks, businesslike, but her mouth is still trembling when she turns. “Do you have a country sweetheart you miss, Sefa? Someone else?”

“Only my father.” It's as honest as she can be. “Is there someone you'd like me to send?”

Isolde crosses the room. “Stay.”

Sefa reaches out and closes the last distance between them, her fingers catching on Isolde's sleeve. “Why?”

“Because I'd like you to.” There's no jest to it.

Sefa holds on. “Then I'll stay.”

“Simple as that? You'll risk cruel gossip, just because I want you to stay?”

Sefa has no answer. She kisses her instead. Her inexperience must show, because when Isolde pulls away she's concentrating again, not thinking of her dead sweetheart, and then her arms are around Sefa and Sefa only has to say yes for all concerns about her inexperience to disappear.

*

There's no elegance about it, no sweetness. Sefa knows even less of what two women might do than a man and a woman, but Isolde, with her head up Sefa's skirts, seems to have her ideas. She leaves nips the tender skin of Sefa's thighs, and Sefa squirms, heat building between her legs, feeling slick and strange.

Sefa pulls her skirts into a heap on her belly, so she can see Isolde's messy braid and her dark eyes and the wink she gives just before she spreads Sefa's legs and puts her mouth between them.

“Oh, what,” Sefa says, but sound leaks even through stone walls and she bites her hand, surprised at the high pained noises she finds herself catching.

Isolde feasts on her like she's something delicious to drink down, with wet noises that make Sefa's cheeks hot. She'd expected to feel ravished, if she ended up on her back in a knight's cot, but that's not it at all. Her body tightens under Isolde's clever mouth and firm grip, and there's no shame to it.

Instead, Sefa goes over a crest she didn't know was there, hand falling from her mouth as she laughs, giddy and helpless.

When she looks, Isolde is looking back with her mouth red and wet and something strange in her eyes. Something thoughtful. “Why me?” she asks, Sefa's question thrown back at her just when she doesn't have an answer.

“Because if I'm to tup a knight, it may as well be you.”

One corner of Isolde's mouth tilts up. “That's not a very good answer.”

“Perhaps not.” She reaches out. “But you can come up here and help me find another one.”

* * *

**25.**

Merlin pegged the handsome blond man as a difficult client as soon as he swaggered in, but he had dealt with troublemakers before.

“I’m Merlin Emrys, good to meet you,” he said, offering the other man his hand. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” the client said, his grip lingering a little longer than it should have. 

“So, Mr. Pendragon,” Merlin started his introductory pitch, in his low-pitched, soothing professional voice. “If there’s anything you like or don’t like, please tell me beforehand. During the session, it’s most relaxing if we don’t talk. But of course, if the pressure is too much or anything is uncomfortable for you, please say so.”

Was the new client _smirking_ at him?

Attributing the inappropriate expression to first-time nerves, Merlin continued smoothly, “I’ll leave the room while you disrobe…” but the other man was way ahead of him, already shucking his clothes and throwing them into an untidy pile on the chair in the corner of Merlin’s workspace.

He had his shirt and trousers off and was reaching to pull down his boxers when Merlin interrupted, “You can leave those on.” 

But they were already off, and got tossed in the direction of Pendragon’s other clothes. 

“No point is a massage with clothes on, right? After all, I’m paying you for skin to skin contact.” 

Merlin took a deep cleansing breath, carefully avoiding looking below the other man’s waist. He moved to pull back the sheet, and said “Face down first, please,” in a no- nonsense tone that he hoped would show who was in charge here.

Apparently the person in charge wasn’t Merlin. 

The client was quiet for the first twenty minutes, and Merlin was pleased that he seemed to be relaxing into the massage. But as Merlin moved from the shoulders toward the lower back, carefully uncovering only a small portion of skin at a time, Pendragon said softly, “Lower.” 

Merlin carefully kneaded the muscles at the base of the spine, but the client said, more loudly, “Lower.”

Merlin stopped. He worked hard to create a soothing atmosphere in his workspace, with music and the lighting and scented oils, and arguing with a client was not conducive to serenity. He was trying to formulate a tactful response to a request he couldn’t grant, when Pendragon reached back and grabbed Merlin’s hand, planting it firmly on his ass.

Merlin jumped back, and the other man propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes dark. “Something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Merlin said indignantly. “You are asking me to give you a sexual massage. That would be both illegal and unethical. And it’s against the rules that are clearly posted in the lobby, and which you signed off on in the client agreement.”

“Oh, come on,” Pendragon said. “We both know that a lot of massage therapists offer extra services for stress relief.” He sat up as he spoke, swinging his legs over the edge of the table and opening them so that Merlin could see his hard cock.

“That may be,” Merlin said, as firmly as he could when presented with a really good-looking erection. “But I don’t do that. I could lose my job. And my license.” 

He didn’t seem to be getting through to Pendragon, who was now lazily stroking himself, his gaze locked on Merlin’s mouth.

Merlin searched for the right word. “It’s _forbidden_ ,” he finally blurted out. 

“Forbidden?” Pendragon mocked. “What a delightfully old-fashioned word! But tell me, don’t you ever feel the allure of the forbidden?”

Seeing Merlin wavering, Pendragon urged, “Tell you what. If you let me do whatever I want in this room, I will pay you double the usual rate for a massage, and a good tip, too.”

As Pendragon fisted his cock faster, Merlin realized how hot he was for him. He threw caution to the winds, and croaked out, “Triple the usual rate.”

“Done,” Pendragon answered. “Now take your clothes off.”

The festivities started with Merlin applying his massage skills with three fingers up Pendragon’s rectum, and continued with Merlin flat on his back on the narrow table while Pendragon straddled his face and fed him his cock. 

Pendragon was a gentleman and brought Merlin off with his hand after he came down his throat.

When they were cleaned up and dressed, Pendragon said, “My credit card is on file for your services.”

He took a wad of twenties out of his wallet and tucked them into Merlin’s shirt pocket.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “That would be really impressive if the money wasn’t coming out of our joint checking account.”

* * *

**26.**

Merlin noticed him the first time in the marketplace. Ever observant, Morgana tsked and tossed the necklace she’d been inspecting — a delicate silver net with an impressive bounty of pearls — back to its merchant like so much dross. 

“Please, Merlin,” she said. 

He shrugged off her judgment, but followed the sun-bleached hair and freckled shoulders with his gaze until the hangings of their palanquin curtained him from view.

**x**

Collecting the boy for his household was not difficult. Merlin stood at the height of the Druid court, second only to the High Priestess herself. What Merlin wanted, he received.

“I’m meant to skivvy for you, your grace?” the boy asked. 

“‘Sir’ is fine,” Merlin said, hiding a smile at the sceptical way his new charge drew a finger across the dustless entryway table. “What am I to call you?” 

“Arthur.” His eye contact was bold, worthy of swift punishment if witnessed by anyone else. 

“Arthur,” Merlin repeated. He resisted the impulse to touch the firm line of Arthur’s jaw.

**x**

“Merlin,” Arthur said, shouldering his way into the parlour. “I can’t find your robe; are you hiding it from me? I wanted to take a nap— oh!” He drew up short, noticing Merlin wasn’t alone.

“What manner of insult is this,” Morgause said. Her tone was curious, but Merlin had gone rigid beside her. Morgana’s eyes darted from the door to Merlin’s face.

“Arthur, get out,” Merlin said. 

When he was gone, Morgana laughed. To her credit, it didn’t sound forced. “What a strange affectation, naming one’s pet.” 

Morgause’s smile was thin. “Strange indeed,” she said, returning her attention to the scrying pool. Merlin’s shoulders slowly relaxed.

**x**

“What are you doing, Merlin?” Morgana hissed. “Acquiring a common labourer is perverse enough, but to keep him as a _companion_ —”

“He is no companion,” Merlin said, sharp. 

“She excuses your eccentricity, but you are asking for too much with this.” 

“I’ve asked for nothing,” Merlin said, peeling out of the shadow of their alcove to continue on into the temple. Even as he accepted his ablutions, sweet valerian perfuming the water, the back of his neck burned.

**x**

“Merlin?” Arthur approached from behind, nudging against Merlin’s shoulder in blatant disregard of the rules concerning contact. “Merlin, are you mad at me?”

“I’ve not given you permission to address me by name,” Merlin said. He could feel Arthur’s shrug.

“But you prefer it.” 

Merlin set down his pestle and mortar, turning against his work table. “What do you want, Arthur?” 

“I don’t want you cross with me.” Arthur grinned. When Merlin didn’t reply, he tilted his head, suddenly leaning in toward Merlin’s neck. “Have you been at the temple?” He trailed off as Merlin recoiled. 

They assessed each other for a long moment; Merlin could see the wheels turning behind Arthur’s sharp blue stare. 

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur lifted a slow hand to Merlin’s cheek, breath catching when Merlin grabbed his wrist. 

“Watch yourself,” Merlin warned. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Arthur said, realisation dawning. “The greatest sorcerer this world has seen — afraid of a common, magic-less human?” 

Merlin’s eyes burned hot for the second it took to remove them to the privacy of his rooms. Arthur shivered, glancing around as solid walls materialised all at once, abruptly cutting off the cool breeze they’d been enjoying on the veranda.

“I don’t fear you,” Merlin said, wry. Slowly, deliberately, he thumbed the fullness of Arthur’s bottom lip. 

This time when Arthur reached for him, he held very still, accepting the pass of breath across his mouth without reaction as Arthur leaned into his ear and inhaled deeply. 

“And I have never feared you, _Merlin_ ,” he said.

Some removed part of Merlin’s mind reflected cynically that this was all well and good, even as he finally tasted Arthur’s lips and allowed Arthur’s base, calloused hands inside his robes. Not fearing Arthur was not the same as being unafraid. 

Merlin still feared spies, and Morgana’s fickle loyalty, and Morgause’s cold rage. 

But in his own bed, head thrown back as Arthur rocked slick and heavy on top of him, Merlin fisted his common, magic-less human’s hot prick until it soiled him with come, and couldn’t find it within himself to care.

* * *


	7. Group C (clean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**27.**

“Know this, young warlock. Your destiny is tied to that of Arthur Pendragon. The witch cannot be trusted, nor is she your destiny.”  
“Well maybe she should be!”

“The witch brings only harm to Camelot, and harm to both sides of your coin.”

“Maybe she wouldn't if we give her a chance! You'll meddle in everyone's fate but Morgana's, but she's got magic same as I do.”

“You are a being of magic, Emrys-”

“And she's alone.”

The great dragon roared a warning, and bellowed, “Your choices alter the path of history, young warlock!”  
It echoed on empty halls.

The next morning Gwen opened the door.  
“Merlin! What are you doing here? Not that we don't like you, that is.”

“I have word for Lady Morgana,” he said.

“Come in,” Gwen said, and welcomed him in, closing the door behind.  
“Actually,” Merlin said, rubbing the back of his neck, “it's _only_ for Lady Morgana. Sorry,” he added. 

Gwen blinked, and immediately started protesting, “Of course! It's fine, I'll just-” She cast about the room, and grabbed the laundry. “Carry this downstairs. I'll be back in a bit. Just, leave the door open? Propriety, you know.”

Merlin nodded, and by this time Morgana had joined them.

“I'll be fine, Gwen. Thank you,” she said, then rounded on Merlin. “What's this then?”

Merlin bit his lip.

“Do you still have those dreams? The nightmares?”

Morgana's brow furrowed. “Yes.”

Merlin hesitated, then said very quietly, “Have they ever come true?”  
Morgana gasped, eyes gone wide. Then she nodded.

“It's magic,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered. “I knew, but I didn't want to say.” She drew back, pulled on her Pendragon upbringing to say, “and neither will you.”  
_”Forbearnen,”_ Merlin whispered in place of an answer. Morgana stared at the tiny flame in his hand, and hesitantly as sparks catch in damp wood, a smile grew.

“You're late,” Morgana whispered a month later. It was almost midnight, and Merlin was covered in soap and smelled of boot polish.

“Arthur's impossible,” he answered. “How've you been doing?”

Morgana's eyes glowed gold, and a sack of grain lifted almost an inch into the air before falling back to earth.

“I keep trying to practice, but everything in my room is too light, or it's too fragile. I feel like I'm.. blocked! Plugged up, or something. I'm suffocating!” She threw her arms up in frustration, but missed how the grain lifted a full six inches behind her. Merlin didn't.

“You're stronger when you're feeling something strong,” he said.

“Oh really,” she said, and looked at him sidewise.

Three weeks later in the usual clearing, Morgana's skin nearly glowed under moonlight. Merlin's too, where he lay between her legs. Arms over her bent legs, holding her open for his mouth to fit close to her cunt. There was a spell to try, for a peaceful winter on the last full moon before Samhain. Priest and Priestess, as it were, the two most powerful magic users in the land. He worked his mouth to suck at her clit, work his fingers inside her, make her moan and say not his name but the words they'd learned in secret candlelight.

As the magic took they both burst into brilliant light, gold as the drying grain. The sweat dried, their breathing caught up, and Morgana's eyes continued to glow. With a glance at a nearby log, she raised it six feet in the air.

She hummed in contentment, licked Merlin's lips clean to kiss him.

“What's got you so happy?”

“I can breathe,” she said.

* * *

**28.**

Merlin would have loved to be a fly on the walls of Buckingham Palace the day Arthur, Prince of Wales received his Hogwarts letter. It must have been the worst day of King Uther's life and anyone who was closely involved with the royal family's security and wellbeing would have been at wit's end. The discussions about security (yes, Hogwarts was highly secured), what they would tell the press and public (no, paparazzi weren't allowed anywhere near) and how they would 'deal' with Arthur's talents (no, Arthur would not be allowed to turn politicians into toads) were endless. But Arthur did finally arrive at Hogwarts. It didn't come as a shock to Merlin that he was sorted into Gryffindor.

It was also the start of a rebellious phase. Free from bodyguards, private tutors and a domineering father, Arthur ran wild. His talents for magic weren't extraordinary and he was more likely to start a fight with his fists rather than his wand. The majority of his fellow students being from magic families, Arthur was suddenly a normal boy. But on that was used to having his way. It was the start of _many_ detentions with his Defence against the Dark Arts professor, Merlin Emrys. It almost seemed as if detention was exactly where Arthur wanted to be.

"I don't belong here!" Arthur yelled, frustrated at another failed attempt to perform wandless magic. It was his fourth year, another detention.

"You _do_ belong here, Arthur. Give it time."

Arthur looked at Merlin disbelieving. Then the look changed into something different. Merlin had been getting a lot of _those_ looks lately.

From the skin-tight trousers he wore underneath his robes to the lewd ‘wand’-jokes Arthur made to his friends every time Merlin approached, it was clear that Arthur wasn't hiding his sexual preferences.

And after nearly four years of living in close proximity to the prince, it was all getting to be too much. So Merlin may have started dropping hints about the new Room of Requirement. Passing it on his way to his chambers, when he knew Arthur was close behind. But it was another thing altogether to follow Arthur inside. He let Arthur go from detention early that day.

The Room looked like one of Arthur's royal bedrooms probably did; a king-sized bed with velvety blankets and a dozen of pillows. Merlin didn't have time to look around because Arthur was on him the second he walked through the door. Merlin willingly accepted Arthur's greedy kisses, eagerly following Arthur towards the bed. 

He should have been thinking about his duty, which was protecting the prince. But the little voices in his head were silent; there was only a loud chanting of 'Arthur, Arthur, Arthur'.

He made Arthur's robes and clothes disappear in a heartbeat. Arthur didn't even flinch at the sight of Merlin's eyes turning amber, as if he'd already understood that Merlin's magic was different and that Merlin was young despite his real age by powers more ancient than a philosopher's stone. 

Touching, kissing, licking every inch of skin he could reach, Merlin worshipped Arthur's body. The boy squirmed underneath his ministrations, begging Merlin not to stop. He was close already when Merlin sucked on the tip of Arthur's leaking cock. Merlin opened his mouth wide, taking in as much of the sensitive flesh as he could, feeling the tip hit the back of his throat. 

Arthur screamed loudly as he came. "Next time, I want you to fuck me," Arthur said the moment he'd caught his breath. 

_This is going to be the death of me after all,_ Merlin thought.

They did fuck, as often as they managed to sneak away. Keeping their absences short and irregular, linked to a detention here and an extracurricular there. 

Their rendez-vous did turn out to be educational at times. One day they were engaged in a fully clothed frotting session the moment the door to the Room closed behind them. 

"Too many clothes!" Arthur muttered, when the friction was no longer enough. 

"Make them disappear," Merlin said, amused. Stopping Arthur when reached for his wand, he added, "wandlessly."

Arthur rolled his eyes but it only took a few tries until they were both completely naked. 

As a reward, Merlin fingered Arthur slowly on the bed. First with one finger, then when he wanted to add the second, he was surprised to find Arthur’s hole wet and stretched. 

"You're getting better at this wandless magic!" Merlin said appraisingly. 

"Well... I finally know exactly where I belong."

* * *

**29.**

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Nimueh laughs.

“Silence,” growls Uther.

He strides towards her, dagger drawn and ready to strike.

“Is this the day you finally do it?” she breathes, back hitting the wall. “Is this the day you finally make good on your promise?”

His face is inches from hers, rage etched into every line.

“What are you waiting for?”

He moves lighting fast, bringing the blade down across her torso. But instead of ripping through skin it shreds the thin cotton of her dress. He’s on her in seconds, lips crushed messily to hers, hands groping at her breasts as he ruts against her like a dog.

“Down boy,” she laughs again, pushing him off her with more than just her mortal strength. “I want to savour this. Now on your knees.”

“You are a witch,” he spits, “I don’t take orders from you.”

“I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion,” she says, low and dangerous. “I have walked this earth for two hundred years and I can see into your very soul. I know how much you want this. Now, proud king, on your knees.”

His glare holds strong as he sinks to the ground, trousers still tented with his unmistakable arousal. She sheds the tattered remains of her dress and walks forward until she can feel the heat from his breath between her legs.

“You know what to do.”

And he does. He all but lunges for her, clutching at her hips and pulling her down onto his face. He eats her greedily with no finesse or rhythm. She wonders what the people would think if they could see the mighty King of Camelot like a suppliant on his knees at the feet of a sorceress. At his core he is as base as any man, lapping at her cunt like a starving animal. This is a different kind of power, and it fills her in a way the Old Religion never will. Her whole body shudders against his face in release but he continues to draw her deeper into his mouth, like he knows this is his last chance to taste her. With a rough shove, she angles his head back and admires her work.

His expression hasn’t changed but now his chest is heaving with more than just rage. Her slick is smeared across his face, giving his lips a wet shine, and his length is clearly straining against his trousers.

She goes to him again and uses a foot to send him sprawling to the floor. He doesn’t fight her, just lies there and waits as she enchants the laces out of his trousers.

“You’re learning pet,” she coos, patting the side of his face as she mounts him. “So patient for me.”

He snakes a hand up her back and yanks her hair. She hisses and snaps her hips forward, dragging a moan out of him.

“One day,” he grunts between thrusts, “one day I will see you dead.”

“Oh come now Uther, we both know that’s never going to happen.”

Quick as a flash he flips them over, slamming her back into the rough stone and fucking her with hard, brutal thrusts.

“That’s right,” she sighs. “Fill me full of your rotten seed, sour and unable to produce a child.” His rhythm falters and she smirks. “You do know that, don’t you? Ygraine was perfectly healthy, it was your faulty breeding that killed your wife and almost ended your line.”

A scream of rage breaks his silence. “One day,” he hisses, venom dripping in every syllable. “I will find a way to break your vile enchantment on me, and when that day comes, I’ll rip your head from your body and drive a spike through your skull.”

She can’t contain the howl of laughter that rips from her. “Enchantment? You foolish man. The only enchantment you’re under is the one that plagues your whole sex: letting your prick do all the thinking!”

He shoves a hand to her throat, cutting off her laughter, but doesn’t stop thrusting.

“You did something to me that night, the night Ygraine conceived,” he rails. “You poisoned my mind!”

“If it makes you feel better about our little arrangement then so be it,” she gasps. “But know this, Uther Pendragon, you are under no spell of mine.”

He comes with a broken sob and stumbles to his feet, cock still dripping.

“This is the last time you’ll see me before I kill you.”

It never is.

* * *

**30.**

“I’m going out,” Gwaine called, jacket and keys already in his hand.

Leon didn’t look up from his book, just nodded, uninterested.

That was what they had been reduced to. Leon probably knew that there was someone else. They’d married too young, too hastily, then grown apart. It happened.

“Don’t wait up.” 

As if he would.

Gwaine left the top down on the car as he sped through the city, letting the night air blast away his worries and fears. What he was doing was wrong. But it was more than just adultery. The penalty for what Gwaine was doing, if they were caught, was a slow, painful, public death. 

A couple were on the news yesterday, the woman bloated with the Sinner’s Virus. They’d been paraded in public, showing their sin for all to see before the execution. The virus was a constant fear. But they were careful, had medical checks before they’d started the affair. They’d been clean. The woman… 

He couldn’t bear the thought of Ellie screaming in agony like that.

The observatory was in darkness. It was where Elena worked, remote enough that they shouldn’t be caught. It was almost safe. But their love would never be safe.

He parked his car out of sight, then slipped through the side door and headed for the roof. It had been weeks, and he was desperate for her.

They’d met at an evening class there. He’d watched as she talked passionately about the stars, seen the way her face lit up at his interest. He’d kissed her later, under the stars. They’d first made love there too, tentative, exploratory, then with fulfilment Gwaine had never found with anyone else.

They both had loveless marriages, but at least Leon was a decent person. Vivian was a spoilt, vicious bitch who didn’t deserve his sweet Ellie. If things were different Gwaine would have spirited Elena away long ago.

Things weren’t different. The law was the law. No interspecies marriage. Different species couldn’t breed.

He and Leon hadn’t done their duty, visited the incubation centre and created the single child they were allocated yet. Two people, one child. The resultant population fall was a triumph for the Empire. Gwaine didn’t care about having children, all he wanted was Elena. But their love was wrong.

If it was wrong, why did Ellie feel so good in his arms? It shouldn’t be about species, it should be about love. It should only ever be about love.

“Gwaine!” 

She rushed at him as soon as he opened the door onto the roof, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily.

“Missed me?” he whispered.

“Like burning.”

Pretty Ellie, all blonde hair and blue eyes, always smiling even when Vivian had been cruel. He felt a brief pang when he thought of Leon, then pushed the feeling away, sweeping Elena up in his arms and carrying her over to the blanket she’d laid out for them.

Then it was just as it always was, wild and desperate, both of them eager for the other. Ellie was always hot and wet for him, groaning as he pushed inside her, filling her. She smelled of flowers and gave needy little gasps as he fucked her, moaning her pleasure as she came. He could feel her climax clenching around him, and it set off his own.

“I love you,” he heard her whisper as she clung to him, and when he said it back he meant it. Yet there was something wrong, he could tell. 

“Still ill?” he asked, fearing the answer. It had just been a little sickness, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

“I stopped being sick. But Gwaine…” she placed his hand on her stomach, and there was no mistaking the gentle swelling there. “I’m frightened.”

It scared Gwaine too. But he had to be brave, for her. 

“It might not be that.”

“It is, I know it. Men and women aren’t supposed to be together. It’s the law. They’ll say we’re an abomination. They’ll take us to the square, they’ll make you watch me die and then they’ll… Oh Gwaine! I can’t bear what they’ll do to you!”

He held her close, stroking his hand over her stomach. He thought he could feel something in there, moving. She couldn’t die, not his Ellie.

“We’ll run,” he promised. “There’s places we can go, far from here. People who can save you.”

“Really?”

He wasn’t sure. But he smiled reassuringly, and took her hand.

* * *

**31.**

“Someone’s planning a fun night, eh?”

Gwaine hadn’t intended to pick the worst possible combination of items to buy on a Tuesday night, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get called out on it by the cashier, but here he was. The cashier was exactly Gwaine’s type, too: dark hair, skinny, probably looked great in tight jeans and eyeliner. Gwaine wasn’t usually one to flirt where he shopped, but he could make an exception.

“You probably don’t see too many guys buying duct tape with their wine and condoms,” Gwaine said, grinning.

“You’d be surprised. This isn’t the weirdest purchase I’ve checked out,” said the cashier. “It’s actually pretty benign compared to a few of them.”

“Yeah?”

“An old man came in once to buy Viagra, hand lotion, and a Teen Vogue magazine.”

“Jesus.”

“I know. The joys of working retail,” the cashier said, scanning the wine bottle. “You’ll have a tough time coming up with something I haven’t seen before.”

“Will I?” Gwaine said, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the cashier’s nametag. “That sounds a bit like a challenge, _Merlin_.”

“Cash or credit?” Merlin asked, but he was smiling anyway.

—

A few days later, Gwaine came back.

“Oh God, you were serious about that challenge, weren’t you?” Merlin said as Gwaine set a box of condoms, some lube, and a single banana on the conveyer belt, much to the horror of the baby-boomer behind him. “You’re going to have to try a little harder than that, though. I’m afraid that’s not very creative.”

“I guess I’ll just have to come again later,” said Gwaine, smirking. “But hey, at least you got to check me out.”

Merlin snorted. “Also not very creative. You realize I’m not actually allowed to flirt with customers, right?”

“Hm,” Gwaine said. “It’s a good thing I don’t like playing by the rules then, eh?”

—

“How much money are you planning to _spend_?” Merlin asked later that week, scanning the tag the skimpiest chemise Gwaine could find.

“I’ll have you know that I actually did happen to need batteries and whipped cream.”

“And the, uh, lingerie?” 

Gwaine shrugged in mock nonchalance. “That color brings out my eyes.”

—

“Hey, did you write your phone number on the cash you paid with last time?” Merlin asked as he put Gwaine’s latest purchase—dog treats, a dog collar, and lube—into a paper grocery bag.

“I might have,” Gwaine conceded. “Depends. Were you thinking of calling me?”

Merlin started rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…. How about…. My shift ends in fifteen minutes. You should, um, meet me then, by the employee entrance around back. If you want?”

And Merlin looked so goddamn adorable just then, embarrassed and holding up the line, that Gwaine had to suppress the urge to kiss him right there in the middle of the store. “Sure thing, gorgeous,” he said instead, giving Merlin a wink. “I can wait.”

—

The night air was a little chilly when Merlin met him outside.

“Hey,” Gwaine said.

“Hey,” Merlin replied. 

“I sort of miss the uniform,” Gwaine said, gesturing to the new outfit. Merlin had lost the tacky blue polo and was wearing a dark jacket with a scarf instead. “I’d gotten used to cashier-Merlin.”

“Oh, yeah, well. I figured if we were going out for drinks or something….”

“Mm-hm…” said Gwaine, taking a step forward. “But what if I don’t want to wait until after we get drinks to kiss you?”

“What?” Merlin said, but his eyes had slipped down to look at Gwaine’s lips. “Oh, um. Yeah.”

So he kissed Merlin, slow at first, then hard, all tongue and teeth. Merlin responded with equal enthusiasm, letting himself get crowded up against the brick wall of the supermarket. Gwaine felt Merlin’s hands thread into his hair, so he pushed his leg in between Merlin’s thighs, rubbed the hard line of Merlin’s cock. Merlin groaned against Gwaine’s mouth.

“I want to suck your dick,” Gwaine whispered.

“What, here?” Merlin said, panting. “I could get fired. You can’t give me a blowjob right outside the store I _work_ at.”

Gwaine dropped to his knees and looked up at Merlin through his lashes. “Are you sure about that?”

“ _Fuck…_ ” Merlin groaned again. He didn’t protest when Gwaine unzipped his jeans, or when Gwaine pulled out his cock, or when Gwaine took him in his mouth. Instead he just whimpered and clutched at Gwaine’s hair. When Merlin came, he shut his eyes tight and bit his lip in a way that made Gwaine want to kiss it all over again.

“My place?” Gwaine asked, smirking. “I’m pretty well stocked.”

* * *

**32.**

**"We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings in the way that boys are." -Chimamanda Adichie**

_Gwen reaches out, brushes her fingertips across Morgana's palm-_

-or does she? Is that right? Mithian tugs on her hair, frustrated.

"I have sex with women! Why can't I write about it?"

"I don't know," Elena shouts back from the living room, "but you've two hours 'til the deadline. I'm posting now!"

"I hate you," Mithian says, but she means _I hate that I can't find the words and you can._

**"We police girls. We praise girls for virginity, but we don’t praise boys for virginity. [...] We teach girls shame. [...] We make them feel as though, by being born female, they’re already guilty of something.**

_Morgana's lips trail across the soft skin under Gwen's jaw._

_"When I watch you on the sidelines, I want to dress myself in armour and knock every one of those knights on their backsides. I want you to look at me that way." She whispers it like a secret against Gwen's skin, dangerous to keep, deadly to share._

_"I do," Gwen whispers back. "But never where anyone else can see, because it's not for them. It's only for you."_

"Argh! I sound like a fucking romance novel!"

Elena rushes in. "Ok, breathe. Breathe with me. In. Out. That's it." Once Mithian is breathing again, she asks, "What's wrong?"

Mithian inhales, squeezes her eyes shut, and says, "All the ways I've learned to talk about sex with women have nothing to do with actual sex I've had with women. I feel like every time I try to write the sex itself, I shy away from it. I get purple or trite and-" she hiccoughs "-why is it easier to write about two guys when I have no reference for that? Why does it feel more authentic, serious, and _real_ when the characters in the original source aren't like me?"

"Oh, baby." Elena wraps her in a fierce hug. "It gets in our heads, other people's words and rules. I'm so proud of you for fighting."

"But I'm losing," Mithian whispers.

 **"And so, girls grow up to be women who cannot say they have desire. They grow up to be women who silence themselves. They grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think."**

"I think," Mithian says, her forehead pressed to Elena's chest, "that deep down, I'm embarrassed to admit I like sex. It's easy to say it in an over-the-top way when everyone else does, isn't it? But I was raised with this kind of shell around me, where truly, honestly admitting how much I like sex in full daylight outside my bedroom is hard. Saying it to people who aren't my partner is hard. I feel exposed, like I'm waiting for judgment."

Elena kisses the top of her head. "It's hard, yeah. Drawing and writing are bits of your heart on the screen, and it's terrifying to let people see the truths inside you."

"I don't know how you do it." Mithian sniffles slightly. "I really envy you sometimes."

"Don't. I- I have my own issues, you know. I can write sex that has women in, but it's really hard for me to write love and tenderness like you do. I feel so awkward with that stuff."

"I write that to avoid body parts touching," Mithian admits.

There's a pause, then they both burst out laughing.

"We're a mess," Elena declares. "So how about this time, you write one line with body parts touching, and I'll go edit my entry to add one line with emotion that isn't hatesex or pure lust. And we'll go from there?"

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah." But Elena is grinning.

**"I’m trying to unlearn many of the lessons of gender that I internalized when I was growing up. But I sometimes still feel very vulnerable in the face of gender expectations."**

_Gwen draws Morgana's head down to her chest, arching to push her breasts forward in a silent request. Morgana takes one nipple in her mouth and sucks lightly, teasing, while Gwen's hands tangle in her hair._

_"I want your fingers," Gwen says._

_Morgana might have teased, might have asked 'where?', but instead she dips her hand down and slides two fingers deep into Gwen's wet folds, pressing her palm against the swollen outer lips and rubbing a firm circle that has Gwen's breath hitching. ___

"I did it," Mithian says quietly. "I fucking did it."

* * *

**33.**

Arthur had the pillow clamped tight over his head, but it didn’t do much to muffle the rustling of sheets across the small, stuffy room. Every sound was magnified in the still night, the sharp inhales and ragged exhales seeming so close that Arthur imagined he could feel his brother’s warm, wet breath against his neck. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it captivated him; shame and humiliation clawed at Arthur’s throat as he felt himself getting hard.

Arthur had never known quite what to do with Merlin. Born ten years later, Merlin had always seemed like a simple nuisance, an inconvenience around whom Arthur easily crafted his life. But at some point in the past few years, Merlin had emerged from the awkwardness of pubescence into a sharp-featured pretty boy with long, lean limbs and a secret smile that caught Arthur by surprise every time.

They’d spent a lot of time together this summer, cooking atrocious meals their mother refused to eat and playing footie one-to-one in the garden, shirtless and panting. It was impossible not to notice the dark trail of hair down Merlin’s abdomen, inviting Arthur’s eyes to the curve in the front of his brother’s shorts.

Merlin was indecent. The kid had no sense of shame, no boundaries to speak of, just reached into his pants to readjust himself whenever he felt like it. Surely it was not Arthur’s fault that he tracked the motion with his eyes, and the thick pounding of blood in his ears was embarrassment, not lust.

Not lust.

Arthur’s cock jerked in sympathy when he heard Merlin come, an urgent, quiet “ _Ah!_ ” drifting over to him followed a moment later by the slow pull of a tissue from the box, somehow louder for its attempt at discreetness.

Why couldn’t Merlin just wank in the shower like a normal sixteen-year-old? That’s what Arthur had been doing all summer, hand curled tight around himself under the hot spray as he tried to think of nothing and inevitably thought of _something_ , of pretty, pink lips wrapped around him and, on one occasion that still made his skin crawl, of the long stretch of Merlin’s pale back as fantasy Arthur fucked into his virgin arse.

Though they hadn’t had much of a relationship to speak of for most of Merlin’s life, they’d easily fallen into the brother routine, ridiculing one another, kicking each other from opposite ends of the settee, and wrestling over who got the last ice cream. The only difference, Arthur suspected, was that most brothers probably didn’t have to keep their hips carefully turned away to avoid cock confusion.

Merlin was laid out on his back on the carpet, remote control held high above his head, one long arm outstretched and the other fighting to shove Arthur down his body, to keep the prize out of his clutches. Focussed solely on the objective, Arthur planted his knee on the ground between Merlin’s legs and used the leverage to grasp the remote. Stretched out along Merlin’s body, pressing flush against his front, Arthur’s thigh slotted into place against Merlin’s groin. They shared a look of horror as they seemed to realise in unison that Merlin’s shorts failed to conceal the thick flesh of his hard cock.

Arthur’s fingers lingered with Merlin’s around the remote, and neither of them moved. The question on Merlin’s face, so close to Arthur’s, was knitted clearly between his eyebrows, and Arthur realised a beat too late that he should have pulled away. With a bravery Arthur would never have anticipated, Merlin quirked his mouth into a self-satisfied smirk and ground his cock up against Arthur’s thigh, letting out a slutty groan.

“Fuck,” Arthur said, “Mer—” The second half of the name was swallowed up in Merlin’s mouth, hot and needy in a way that had Arthur clamping his thighs around Merlin’s leg and rutting against him like a randy teenager.

It was Merlin who pulled down their shorts, Merlin whose spit-slick hand surrounded them both as they fucked against each other, Merlin who came with a moan Arthur knew he’d replay in guilty wank sessions for years to come.

Arthur’s shame was not quite strong enough to keep him from shooting his load all over Merlin’s hips and cock and balls, from staring at the mess they made with hunger, from sucking down Merlin’s come later that night. There would be time enough for self-loathing once summer ended.

* * *

**34.**

Merlin’s ears pricked at the sound of approaching footsteps. His heart started to race and he froze as the door opened. Logically, he knew that he and Arthur were the only ones in the flat but that didn’t stop a flicker of fear that an unexpected visitor could find them like this.

No-one raised the alarm though, and when the footsteps stopped in front of him, Merlin could hear Arthur’s breathing and relaxed. It felt like he’d been waiting for eternity for Arthur to return and his body thrummed with anticipation of what Arthur would do to him.

Merlin clamped down on a protest as Arthur walked away which turned into a huff as heard Arthur sit on the sofa. The next thing he could hear was the sound of paper rustling. Reading? Arthur had Merlin kneeling naked and hard on the floor for him and the best thing he could think of to do with that was _read_?

“Something you wanted to say, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice feigned innocence.

Merlin shook his head sharply.

“Good. Because I don’t recall giving you permission to speak yet.” 

Prat. Merlin glared in Arthur’s general direction through his blindfold. 

“You really are going to have to come up with some new insults. That one’s getting a little tired.” Arthur commented, but flicked over another page. “I’ll get to you in good time, don’t you worry.” 

So Merlin waited. He kept his hands clasped behind his back at Arthur had instructed and did his best not to fidget. With not much else to do, he closed his eyes and thought about what they might get up to when Arthur got to him. Would he let Merlin move? Remove the blindfold or leave it on to keep him guessing? When he finally touched Merlin, would he be allowed to come or would Arthur hold him on the edge for as long as he could? Or would Arthur lose control as well and just bend him over the sofa and fuck him? 

Dammit, these thoughts were doing nothing to ease his throbbing dick. But by this point, Merlin was too turned on to even try and think about anything else.

Arthur slammed the book shut suddenly, causing Merlin to jump. 

“Do you know what you do to me, Merlin?” Arthur was close now, whispering right in Merlin’s ear. “Kneeling there, ready, just waiting for me?” 

Merlin’s breath hitched and he nodded. It was taking every shred of self control he had not to lean forward and touch Arthur in any way he could. 

Arthur’s fingers closed around his cock and Merlin keened, thrusting his hips forwards. Arthur wasn’t having any of that though, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s waist to keep him still. Merlin had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from begging; he desperately needed to be touch.

Even at Arthur’s torturously slow speed, Merlin wasn’t going to hang on for long. He’d been worked up for too long and after a few strokes, the familiar warmth spread through him and he spilled into Arthur’s hand. 

Merlin sighed and sagged back into Arthur’s arms as he recovered. He put his hands up to remove the blindfold but Arthur batted them away. “You don’t think we’re done yet, do you? I’ve got plenty more to do with you today.” 

Arthur pulled Merlin to his feet and angled them towards the door. “You’ve done such a good job keeping quiet; now I want to see how much you can annoy our neighbours.”

Merlin laughed, he was sure Gwaine and Morgana would be thrilled by that.

* * *

**35.**

It’s the end of an incredibly trying, incredibly _long_ day in the office and Merlin just wants to go home. Everyone else in the office has already gone for the weekend; the only person left besides Merlin is the night admin assistant and it’s almost time for her to leave as well. Switching off his computer monitor, Merlin heaves a sigh and looks at the mess on his desk. It will have to wait.

Two new client intakes, three individual sessions, and a session of group therapy was already a rough day; having to stay late, calling in favors to get a recently relapsed client into treatment sapped the last bit of Merlin’s will for the day. The mental health system is fucked and Merlin knows he’s doing the best he can, but he still feels rage every time another hospital tells him they have no beds open. There’s nothing more he can do tonight. It’s time to go home.

Grabbing his messenger bag from the hook on the wall, Merlin turns off the lights and turns to leave his office, only to open the door and find his fiancé standing there, looking almost murderous. It’s only then that it hits Merlin exactly what time of night it is.

Fuck.

‘Daddy…,’ Merlin starts gently, mind already racing to construct the apology that Arthur’s expression tells him will be of no use. This is the second time this week that he’s stayed late at work and forgotten to send an update text home by office close. He is in trouble.

‘Do you think that what is ask you to do is unreasonable,’ Arthur asks, voice quiet and sharp in the empty hallway. 

‘No, but--,’ Merlin tries, still attempting to rationalize his mistake, going quiet when Arthur grabs him by the neck and pushes him backward into the dim office. Merlin hears the door close firmly and then it’s just darkness.

_‘There’s only one sound I want to hear out of that mouth of yours.’_

Arthur’s voice is low, deadly serious, and the tone pierces Merlin’s chest through the darkness. Merlin’s heart is pounding and his eyes are burning from the tears already welling up. Arthur’s hand is still around his throat, reassuring and chastising all at once. Merlin knows that Arthur isn’t angry, just tired and disappointed, and the reality has a lump forming in his throat.

_‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’_

Merlin is sobbing in earnest by the last syllable, fat tears dripping down his cheeks and pooling where Arthur’s finger meet his jaw. He feels like a failure. He can’t even follow the simplest rule. Merlin feels them flex imperceptibly and braces himself right before Arthur’s other hand connects with his cheek.

The blow isn’t hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to get Merlin’s attention and bring him back to ground. Arthur can always tell when Merlin’s mind starts spiraling and this is how he always brings him back. Arthur is the only person Merlin has ever trusted enough to slap him in the face, to _ask_ to slap him in the face; the feeling is a visceral reminder of the connection and the trust between them. Even as the tears continue to fall, Merlin’s mind clears.

Arthur’s grip on his throat loosens and Merlin feels himself being enveloped in Arthur’s arms. The feel and smell of him is overwhelming; the tears don’t stop coming and Merlin realizes just how tired he is and how much he needed Arthur here. How much he needs him now.

 _’May I please apologize,’_ Merlin asks softly, fingers already sliding Arthur’s belt out of its buckle. Merlin has Arthur’s zipper lowered by the time Arthur says _’You may.’_

The weight of Arthur’s cock in his mouth affirms for Merlin that the apologies between them are as much for Merlin as they are for Arthur. He knows he was forgiven in the moment before the slap. Merlin hates nothing more than feeling like he’s failed Arthur—failed _them_ , and the feeling of Arthur’s hand clenched in his hair and Arthur cock pressing into his throat are a reassurance. The scent of Arthur in his nostrils brings Merlin back to who they were before they were _this_ , reminding him that there was a them before this and that his missteps will not undo that.

He is a loved boi. He is cherished boi.

Merlin is still crying as Arthur’s cum coats his tongue.

* * *

**36.**

“We ain’t got but one room,” says the innkeeper, a bored-looking man with a bright red nose. “Your mistress is welcome there, and you can have the hay in the barn.” He pauses to leer up at Gwen on her horse. “M’wife’s sick, but I can prepare your fire and fetch your dinner, milady.”

Gwen opens her mouth to say that Lancelot isn’t her servant, and that she needs no help to light a fire, but Lancelot beats her to it:

“I can see to my mistress’ needs well enough myself.” His tone is cold, and the innkeeper shrugs before turning away. 

Lancelot reaches both hands up to her. “My lady?”

Gwen grimaces at it—there is _no need_ for this charade—but she has been on a horse all day, and Lancelot said the words “my mistress” and meant _her_. If Lancelot wants to pretend to be a servant, let him.

Lancelot’s hands burn against her waist when she dismounts.

*

Gwen didn’t want to spend three full days alone with Lancelot. But when Arthur had assigned him to escort Gwen to Meredor, she could think of no rational objection.

She is still— _still_ —incandescently angry with him. He _left her_ , without farewell or discussion. He’d walked away like Arthur had some prior claim, and Gwen’s own opinion didn’t matter. Like she was a farm animal they were haggling over.

Gwen’s love for Arthur, because of course she does love him, is easy. Comfortable. True.

Her love for Lancelot itches like scar tissue.

*

Gwen sits in a chair and watches stiffly while Lancelot builds her fire, tightens the mattress ropes, and fetches up water.

“Do you need anything else?”

Gwen didn’t need any of it; he just did it, without asking. 

Her simmering mood must be apparent on her face, because Lancelot frowns and dips his chin. “I will leave you, then.”

“Remove my boots?”

Gwen hadn’t meant to say it, or perhaps she had, but more commanding and sarcastic. Somehow her mouth filters the words into a question.

Lancelot stares for half a beat before sinking straight to his knees. His hands hesitate at the hem of her dress but eventually sneak under and start to tug at the laces of her boots.

Gwen finds herself staring at the bedposts over his head. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, and her shins tingle and thighs jerk as Lancelot’s hands work methodically work up the laces of each boot.

His hand cups the back of her calf, under her skirts, when he pulls them off. It’s a step too far, really. She should object.

Lancelot looks up under his lashes. “Anything else?”

“Rub my feet.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, and this is going somewhere from which they cannot easily return, but Gwen can’t stop. Lancelot owes her this.

His thumbs dig into the arches of her feet, and Gwen’s breath turns audible.

“Harder,” she tells him,.and Lancelot arranges a fist against her arch.

“Here, press down,” he says. And she does, rolling her foot against his knuckles.

Lancelot’s eyes are dilated. “Use me as you see fit,” he adds.

Gwen is full of some feeling she can’t explain, something lustful and drunk, with a sharp edge of resentment.

She stands up, but holds a hand to keep Lancelot where he is.

He’s panting. He’s actually panting through his open mouth, on his knees, and Gwen has never felt so powerful in her life. 

“Put your tongue out,” she hears herself say.

He does. They stand there for a long moment, and he doesn’t take it back in, just breathes around his tongue and lets it drip spit down his chin.

Gwen’s hands form fists in her skits, and she pulls them up, little by little. She puts a hand on his head and pushes it down, makes him huddle to reach the vee of her thighs with his face.

“Oh,” she says, almost surprised, when he begins to lap at her with a strong, twisting tongue.

“Give me your hands,” she whispers. She arranges the fingers of one hand to hold her open so that his tongue can reach where she’s warm and dripping, and places his other hand so it will hold up her skirts. Perfect.

They are so, so far past the line right now, but Gwen is _owed this_. She stands there and ruts against his mouth, makes his spit cover her thighs, gets his tongue up her cunt.

* * *

**37.**

An Unconventional Beauty

Arthur felt Catrina’s breath, hot on his neck. Her tongue slithered to his earlobe and tasted the sensitive skin she found there. The sensation of her lips went straight to Arthur’s cock.

Arthur always had a fondness for, what some may call, _unconventional beauty_. Of course he had bedded his share of fair-haired maidens with pert breasts and slim waistlines. Their perfect teeth and comely features bored Arthur to tears and did nothing to stir his libido. No, Arthur’s tastes were for the _unusual,_ not the cookie-cutter beauties that his father paraded in front of him, in hopes that he would someday select a bride.

The gods knew Arthur had chased after his scrawny manservant from the moment he first arrived in Camelot. Merlin, with his over-sized ears and country-bumpkin manners, sadly had rebuffed Arthur’s attempts at wooing. Ever patient and noble, Arthur bided his time until the next unconventional beauty caught his eye.

Some may consider it a forbidden relationship, but when Catrina was spurned by none other than Uther Pendragon, who rejected Catrina after discovering the truth about her appearance, Arthur’s curiosity was piqued. In no time at all, Catrina was eating out of Arthur’s hand… and messily so.

Arthur loved the way Catrina laughed when he discussed some princely matters of the court with her. She chortled wildly when he told her that he was no longer convinced that sorcery was thoroughly evil. 

Catrina encouraged Arthur to do what he believed was right, gruffly saying, “You’re the prince. You have no obligation to keep your father’s rules. Someday, you will be king!”

“And you will be my queen,” Arthur said affectionately.

Arthur took Catrina into his arms and looked deep into her watery eyes. It seemed a shame that no one had ever considered Catrina’s great beauty before. There was something about seeing a woman in her natural state that aroused Arthur. He was tired of the women who made themselves up and presented false images to the men of the realm, in hopes of luring them into marriage. Even his dear friend Gwen had taken to lining her eyes with kohl and reddening the apples of her cheeks in hopes that she would attract a suitor. Arthur was glad that Catrina had no need for such deception. Hers was a natural beauty.

Arthur pressed his lips to Catrina’s carefully, so he wouldn’t be speared by one of her sharp teeth. He licked inside her mouth, inhaling deeply. She tasted of seaweed and goat cheese, but Arthur was always fond of the seaside, and the cook’s goat cheese-stuffed endives suddenly became his favourite appetizer. From this moment on, Arthur would ask for the cook to prepare it daily, in honour of his new lady love’s scent.

Catrina pulled Arthur closer. Her yellow fingernails dug sharply into his muscular arms. Arthur hoped she would leave her mark on him, claiming him as her own, so everyone would know she belonged to him. He made a mental note to strip off his tunic while training the following morning, so everyone could see that he belonged to Catrina.

Arthur ran his fingers through Catrina’s lank hair. She sometimes wore a crown of flowers, but to Arthur, such embellishments detracted from the beauty of her grey skin.

“I want to make love to you,” Arthur said.

He embraced Catrina tightly and admired the way her saggy breasts squashed against his powerful chest. It was a joy for Arthur to finally have a partner with some meat on her bones. He dreamed of how wonderful it would feel for her to massage his aching limbs after training. No delicate hand could make him feel the bone-deep contentment of Catrina’s heavy hands on his weary muscles.

Arthur led Catrina to the bed and pushed her onto the plush pillows. She farted loudly and sustainedly, music to Arthur’s ears.

When Arthur yearningly rustled through her dingy petticoats, he was delighted to find that she smelled like the ocean at low tide. Catrina groaned with every movement of Arthur’s fingers as they sought her most intimate place. He grabbed each side of her labia and found that her lips there were as hard as a turtle’s shell. Crusty flakes of dead skin sloughed off beneath his fingers. Her clit was swollen purple with bruising from all the scratching, but it didn’t bother Arthur. He dove down to lavish attention on her with his tongue. Unconventional, yes, but he had never tasted anything finer.

* * *

**38.**

“ _What have you done?_ ” Morgana hissed, rushing forward to the shivering man that lay collapsed on the ground.

Merlin’s jaw, which was already hanging open at the sight before him, fell further in outrage. “I just saved his life!”

“You shapeshifted him! That’s forbidden magic!” Morgana scolded, hurriedly removing her cloak to cover the man’s nudity.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Merlin argued. “My exact words were ‘Magic, do as you will’ and the magic chose to turn him human! You can’t tell me it’s forbidden when the magic itself—”

He fell silent when they heard the phoenix’s cry echo through the trees. They waited in silence until they could no longer hear the roar of flames on its beating wings.

“You turned a dragon into a man.” Morgana shook her head. “Not even magic should have enough power to do that.”

Merlin was inclined to disagree. If Uther had the power to use a phoenix to hunt down and eradicate the world of dragons, then magic should have the power to fight back.

-

Turns out dragons were cocky prats.

In a last ditch effort to save dragons from becoming an extinct species, the three of them marched straight into Uther’s stronghold under the guise of a nobleman and his servants.

It was a terrible plan, but it seemed to be working so far. Arthur (the dragon’s assigned very boring name so that no one would expect him of being anything other than a local human) took to nobility with a flourish, using Merlin and Morgana to help disguise anything he was unfamiliar with.

“Cut my meat.”

“Fill my cup.”

“Put my feet in my boots.”

“Adjust my cloak. I’m cold.”

“Take this. I’m tired of holding it.”

“This castle is boring. Entertain me before I decide to destroy it.”

It was the latest order that gave Merlin pause.

“Merlin, come here. I have needs I want you to tend to.”

It wasn’t much of a pause, seeing as how Merlin was now on all fours on the luxurious guest bed, wondering at what point was it okay to tell a dragon no.

“I don’t see why Morgana couldn’t be the one doing this. She’s better equipped for the job.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Arthur toying with the oil he had covered his fingers in. “Less prep work involved, too.”

“Yes, but seeing as how she’s the one who originally tried to lock me in a cage, I’m not inclined to like her very much.” Arthur’s fingers circled Merlin’s entrance. “You on the other hand…”

Merlin hissed in a breath as he was breached, pushing back against the digits as he was stretched. For someone who had never done this before, Arthur seemed to know just how gentle to be and the best places to press his fingers against.

“Besides,” Arthur continued as he finally withdrew his fingers from a breathless Merlin and moved himself into position. “The gift of a dragon’s seed is too much for her; she would be corrupted with its power.”

Before Merlin could ask just what _that_ meant, Arthur was pushing into him, and holy fuck if that didn’t feel good.

Dropping from his hands to his elbows with a groan, Merlin fisted the blankets as Arthur bottomed out, breathing heavily with the effort of control. As Arthur pressed his mouth against the top of Merlin’s spine, he let out a growl and pulled his hips back only to slam them forward. 

Merlin fully expected a frenzied pace to follow, and was surprised when Arthur stayed buried for a moment and tried to force himself deeper. When that didn’t work, he let out a groan and slowly pulled out halfway before rutting back in.

Merlin’s eyes rolled back as each frustrated thrust from Arthur drove him further into ecstasy, until Arthur was simply grinding himself into Merlin, a steady mantra of “now now now” falling from his lips.

The thought of wondering what that could have meant was chased from Merlin’s mind as he noticed Arthur’s cock distinctly swelling within him. It was with a mighty twitch that he learned just what the gift of a dragon’s seed was as Arthur came, forcing Merlin into an orgasm so powerful, he was left unsure if his cry was in pleasure or pain.

Merlin’s body filled with a magic he had never known before, throbbing through him as it explored its new container and learned of its limits. Knowledge no man had ever known filed itself away in his head, and his heart nearly burst with emotions he could never even hope to identify.

The feeling seemed to last for an eternity, and when Merlin finally came to, Arthur was lying next to him, panting heavily as he stared at the canopied ceiling.

“That…” Arthur waved a hand. “I can see why humans insist on doing that so often.”

“We…are never doing that again,” was Merlin’s stout response.

* * *

**39.**

_Surely, if the gods wed a sister to bother there could be no wrong in their love either, Arthur had insisted, and Morgana had thrown her head back and laughed in scandalised delight._

Morgana’s face is covered by a mask of black and gold with dark red feathers fanning out like a scandalous hair, and yet he recognises her the moment he lays his eyes on her. He knows the lovely curve of her breasts and the sway of her hips, unchanged though he hasn’t seen her in a year, not since Uther found out about them and sent her away. 

They meet at the edge of the dance floor and he draws her into a scandalous dance where each of their touches lingers too long, and their bodies are always closer than appropriate, yet not as close as they yearn. He catches whiffs of her sweet perfume, leaving him mad with the desire to bury his nose against her skin to find her real scent.

When the music fades to signify the end of the dance, Arthur draws her close. “Come home with me,” he whispers, and she nods, eyes shining behind the dark holes of her mask. 

***

Morgana’s hand flutters over the smooth red velvet covers of Arthur’s bed. They have removed their masks but they haven’t kissed, not yet, and Arthur’s lips itch with the wait. He takes a step towards her, but she stops him with a reproachful look and lifts her leg to the bed, slowly gliding her dress up. Every inch of skin revealed makes Arthur’s blood burn brighter, but what almost stops his breathing is the leg strap, holding two small knives. 

Smirking, Morgana hands him one of them. 

“Why don’t you help me out of these clothes and I’ll do the same for you?” 

_Gods._ She twirls the other knife around in her fingers, the blade flashing when it catches the dim light coming from the window. 

His hand trembles when he lifts the knife to rest against the skin just above the neckline of the dress. Morgana’s breath hitches at the contact – he both hears it and sees the movement of her skin under the blade. 

He focuses, steadies his hand, and ever so carefully starts to cut the fabric down. It’s easy and it would be even easier to press ever so slightly more, to cut the pale skin underneath and paint her with red pearls. 

She shrugs the dress over her shoulders and lets it pool to the ground behind her feet. Her breasts are still covered with flimsy lace, but she wears no underpants, the wild dark hair between her legs begging for him to bury his fingers or face in it. His already straining cock weeps against the fabric of his trousers at the thought. 

He takes her wrist, and she lets out a throaty chuckle as he drags her to bed after him, but when he reaches for a kiss she lifts her knife challengingly and he stills. 

She sits on top of him, cunt wet against his trousers, and with small, precise cuts she destroys the ridiculously expensive fabric of his clothes. He is almost trembling with need yet also high with the control he is extruding on his body, forcing it to complete stillness despite how much he wants. 

“Look at you,” she purrs, resting the tip of the knife against his skin without drawing blood. “So beautiful and good for me.” 

“Please.” He doesn’t say it, only forms the words with his lips, and she swallows them away with a quick kiss. But she places her knife away, peels his fingers open from the hilt of the other one – and as soon as they’re gone she rips their remaining clothes away and turns him around. 

Her finger traces down his cleft. 

“Have you let anyone else touch you here?” she asks, her breath falling on his left buttock and making him shiver. 

He shakes his head against the pillows – she rewards him with her mouth, licking and sucking, then finally pushing in and licking there until he comes, sobbing and trying to both push against her tongue and rub his cock against the sheets. 

She rides herself to orgasm on his face, filling his senses with her smell and taste, collapsing next to him with a beautiful, choked breath. 

_Later one of the knives finds its way into the chest of sleeping Uther Pendragon. The murderer is never found._

* * *


	8. Group D (clean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the entries for the seventh annual Summer Pornathon's fourth challenge, Forbidden!
> 
>  
> 
> [Vote for your favorite entries here!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1yUopnH6YdpZ7Qrxuw5vQEqqeHie_NLMXaon4oeNtTFo/viewform)

**40.**

Some family bonding time

[](http://imgur.com/QHDUqxM)

* * *

**41.**

[](http://imgur.com/HKzdDlA)

* * *

**42.**

[](http://imgur.com/vFENfuY)

* * *

**43.**

"Camelot treats with the Druids out of _necessity only_ ," Uther had said to Arthur sternly. "I forbid you from associating with them otherwise."

[](http://imgur.com/0iBcZt6)

* * *

**44.**

Sneaking into the Restricted Section in the Hogwarts library.... tsk tsk tsk.

[](http://imgur.com/5G2fTUK)

* * *

**45.**

[click to see bigger/full version!](http://i.imgur.com/AoiUpsD.jpg)

[](http://imgur.com/QLDlbjb)

* * *

**46.**

You can't just _forbid_ Arthur things - especially when he asks (nicely!!) about borrowing them first. Anyway, it's Morgana's own fault for having the prettiest bed in the castle and not sharing.

[](http://imgur.com/98pK0Fo)

* * *

**47.**

There is only one thing Merlin loves more than sneaking over to his teacher's house after dark, and that's being called his Baby while being stuffed full of Daddy's fat cock.

[](http://imgur.com/oEEcKIn)

* * *

**48.**

Merlin overheard the knights teasing Arthur about his forbidden fruit and soon found out that the crown prince was restricted from spilling his royal seed before marriage... Uther held the single key to the device, but Merlin couldn't stop fantasizing about the fact that he possessed other means to offer Arthur release...

[](http://imgur.com/tRlqNWa)

* * *


End file.
